NEW  YORK 

TO 

•PEKING- 

BLANCHE  SELLERS  ORTMAN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


NEW   YORK.   SCENE 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

BY 

BLANCHE  SELLERS  ORTMAN 


PRIVATELY  PRINTED  AT 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALIFORNIA 

MDCCCCXXI 


COPYRIGHT  1921 

BY  BLANCHE  SELLERS  ORTMAN 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


Tou  have  heard  the  beat  of  the  off-shore  wind, 
*And  the  thresh  of  the  deep  sea  rain  ; 
Tou  have  heard  the  song — how  long!  how  long! 
full  out  on  the  trail  again." 


632048 


FOREWORD 

NEW  YORK,  October  6, 

ON  THE  eve  of  a  big  trip  half  way  around  the  world, 
to  cover  Japan,  Korea  and  China,  many  thoughts 
crowd  themselves  into  my  head  and  heart.  The  most 
prominent  one  reminds  me  how  lucky  I  am  to  be  given 
this  opportunity  to  revisit  a  part  of  the  world  where 
so  much  will  still  be  new  to  my  eyes,  but  my  happy  con- 
templation is  speedily  changed  to  a  more  serious  mood 
when  I  reflect  upon  the  sadness  and  turmoil  in  which  a 
greater  part  of  inhabited  globe  finds  itself  after  the  great 
and  horrible  war.  So  when  I  received  a  letter  from  my 
friend  Lucy,  reminding  me  that  all  good  things  in  this 
world  are  sent  one,  not  to  keep  to  one's  self,  but  rather 
to  be  passed  on  to  others,  I  decided  to  jot  down  my 
observations,  and  consequently,  if  you  don't  like  them, 
please  blame  Lucy ! 

B.S.O. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  I 

r~TvHE  customary  New  York  rush  was  on  me  like  the 
_L  proverbial  plague.  Dinners  and  luncheons,  mixed 
up  with  Red  Cross  and  other  committee  gatherings, 
capped  on  the  final  day  by  the  wedding  of  a  friend,  to 
absent  myself  from  which  made  me  feel  the  ceremony 
would  not  be  exactly  legal.  (Oh,  how  important  mortal 
man  sometimes  feels.  I  later  learned  a  Mongolian  desert 
can  reduce  the  size  of  this  self-conceit). 

Our  travelling  party  was  to  consist  of  four,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  "Biffy,"  R.  (friend  husband)  and  myself.  The 
Biffys  had  already  proceeded,  later  to  meet  up  with  us 
in  San  Francisco,  whence  we  were  to  sail  for  Japan. 
R.  had  urgent  business  in  Chicago,  so  he  had  already 
started,  leaving  me  to  trail  and  catch  up  as  best  I  could. 
I  hoped  our  well  laid  plans  would  carry  out  successfully, 
and  that  it  would  not  prove  to  be  a  game  of  "crack  the 
whip,"  with  myself  constituting  the  lash  of  said  whip. 

When  the  long  expected  morning  of  my  departure 
finally  dawned,  it  found  me  ready  to  start  hours  before 
the  scheduled  time. 

Sister  Betty  had  come  from  Buffalo  for  a  few  day's 


io  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

visit,  and  was  returning  with  me  as  far  as  her  home 
town,  so  we  are  looking  forward  to  a  happy  day  on  the 
train — filled  with  visiting,  knitting  and  chatting. 

My  lovable  friend  Nell  arose  at  an  ungodly  hour  to 
bid  me  an  affectionate  goodbye,  and  to  wave  me  off 
on  my  long  journey  of  many  miles  and  involving  a 
separation  of  many  months.  With  our  eyes  filled  with 
unshed  tears  we  hurriedly  gave  a  last  embrace  to  the 
accompaniment  of  a  shrill  "All  Aboard."  The  train 
quietly  slipped  out  of  the  big  station  with  only  the  noise 
of  closing  vestibule  doors.  Returning  to  my  drawing- 
room,  I  re-counted  my  bags  and  rug  rolls  for  the  one 
hundredth  time,  gave  a  frantic  look  into  my  hand  bag 
for  my  railroad  tickets,  experienced  a  sense  of  relief 
that  after  all  I  had  not  lost  them,  and  forthwith  settled 
myself  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  realization  that  I 
was  on  my  way  across  land  and  sea  into  the  setting  sun. 

At  Chicago  I  fairly  fell  into  R's  arms  as  he  met  me 
at  the  station  platform.  At  the  Blackstone  we  found 
many  notes  and  lovely  flowers  of  welcome.  The  two 
days  that  followed  were  happily  spent  in  lovable, 
friendly  Chicago,  with  all  its  inevitable  grime  and 
smoke,  for  in  those  circumstances  the  warmth  and 
affection  showered  upon  us  by  our  old  and  tried  friends 
out-weighs  any  drawbacks,  be  they  ever  so  disagree- 
able. Dear  Amy  and  Harry  saw  us  to  the  westbound 
train,  favoring  us  with  useful  hints  about  Japan  as  we 
sped  through  the  crowded  streets  to  the  station.  We 
were  indeed  fortunate  to  get  such  good  information 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  u 

from  such  experienced  travellers  as  our  friends.  Our 
small  baggage  had  meanwhile  been  safely  stowed  in  our 
drawing-room  on  the  Overland  Limited,  although  the 
term  small  baggage  is  certainly  a  misnomer  when  it  is 
supposed  to  include  the  "man  eater,"  my  big  week-end 
bag.  But  there  it  was,  peacefully  monopolizing  one  end 
of  the  room  while  the  balance  of  the  available  space  was 
filled  with  offerings  from  our  friends,  books,  candy, 
fruit  and  flowers.  Our  starting  off  on  a  world-ramble  is 
becoming  such  an  old  story  one  would  think  our  dear 
ones  would  tire  of  making  a  ceremony  of  it.  It  flatters 
us  immensely,  and  inwardly  and  outwardly  we  bless 
them! 

We  settle  ourselves  for  the  three  days  and  three 
nights  journey  across  the  continent,  relaxing  almost 
automatically  and  drawing  a  long  breath,  the  first  in 
weeks,  what  with  the  rush  of  preparation,  of  starting 
off,  and  in  the  tying  of  the  many  loose  ends  of  the  in- 
numerable ties  we  had  made  for  ourselves.  Our  train  is 
one  of  two  sections,  the  King  and  Queen  of  Belgium 
being  passengers  on  the  other  section.  Despite  the 
rainy,  cold  weather,  the  station  platforms  are  crowded 
with  people  whose  eagerness  to  see  "Their  Highnesses" 
is  not  dampened  by  drizzle,  or  chilled  by  icy  blasts. 
Who  says  democratic  America  does  not  care  for  royalty? 
Imagine  their  disappointment  as  they  peer  into  our  car 
windows  to  see  the  stately  King  and  his  gracious  Queen, 
to  visualize  only  a  car  full  of  plain  United  States  folk. 
But  they  nevertheless  laugh,  joke  and  jostle,  as  all 


12  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

good-natured  American  crowds  are  apt  to  do.  Of  course 
there  were  types,  the  "smarty"  kind,  the  self-conscious 
youth  with  his  bright  colored  necktie  strutting  about, 
while  his  eyes  roamed  towards  the  pretty  girls;  the 
"fresh  paint"  lads  pushing  one  another  off  the  platform 
or  throwing  a  cap  on  the  roof  of  the  car;  the  giggling 
girls  full  of  admiration  for  the  boys  in  uniform;  the  tired 
mothers  with  their  babies  to  show  them  a  real  live  King 
and  Queen,  so  that  in  after  years,  when  royalty  may  be 
a  very  scarce  element  in  our  social  structure,  the  fact 
will  be  proudly  related  that  these  rulers  were  actually 
seen  in  the  flesh  and  blood;  and  of  course  there  was  the 
ever-present  dog,  always  to  be  found  where  young 
America  holds  forth,  getting  lost  only  to  be  found,  then 
to  be  scolded,  kicked  and  cuffed,  later  to  be  spoiled  with 
love  and  affection  again.  Station  after  station  we  find 
this  same  eager  crowd  waiting  for  the  royal  Belgian 
pair.  School  children,  hundreds  of  them,  bearing  flags, 
dressed  in  their  best,  unruly  to  handle  and  the  despair 
of  their  teachers,  who  impatiently  clap  their  hands  for 
concentrated  attention,  as  their  charges  are  invariably 
looking  in  any  direction  but  that  from  which  the  royal 
train  is  supposed  to  come. 

Our  porter,  a  coal  black,  simple,  well-mannered 
African,  expressed  himself  to  R.  as  being  glad  that  the 
King  was  not  on  his  train.  Upon  being  pressed  for  a 
reason  he  said  in  all  seriousness:  "Why  boss,  dis  yere 
King  can  cut  off  a  man's  head  anytime  he  feels  like  it!" 
R.,  with  his  insatiate  fondness  for  reforming  the  whole 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  13 

world,  launched  forth  into  a  defense  of  much  maligned, 
and  in  this  case,  greatly  overestimated  King  Albert. 
It  took  some  time  to  satisfactorily  explain  to  the  ivory 
headed  darkey  that  kings  in  our  day  and  generation  had 
to  obey  laws  as  well  as  the  common  people,  and  it  is 
not  at  all  certain  that  Sambo  was  fully  and  definitely 
convinced.  He  was  seen  shaking  his  head  as  well  as 
scratching  it  as  he  moved  away  to  dust  the  window  sills 
and  the  observation  car  chairs. 


14  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  II 

ON  THE  second  morning  out  of  Chicago  we  opened 
our  eyes  upon  a  light  blanket  snow  scene,  the 
fleecy  flakes  still  falling  as  we  dashed  across  the  state 
of  Wyoming,  making  us  realize  that  winter  is  fast  ap- 
proaching. As  we  pass  through  little  villages  and  towns 
we  picture  them  during  the  dreary,  long  winter  months, 
their  homes  covered  to  the  eaves  of  the  roofs  with  snow 
for  weeks  on  end.  What  must  be  the  point  of  view  of 
these  people,  after  such  a  season  of  isolation  ? 

As  our  train  dashes  through  these  snow-covered  tiny 
towns,  which  later  in  the  year  will  become  dust-covered 
spots  on  the  horizon  of  the  vast  Western  prairies,  my 
eye  often  catches  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  faded  Red 
Cross  poster,  or  a  service  flag  with  its  one  or  more  stars 
hanging  in  cottage  windows,  and  a  feeling  of  brother- 
hood comes  over  me,  for  it  was  from  thousands  of  just 
such  little  hamlets  that  many  of  our  bravest  lads  were 
sent  over-seas,  high  in  hopes  with  truly  wonderful 
standards,  some  to  return  with  breasts  covered  with  the 
the  insignia  of  honors,  but  many  too,  now  only  a  loving 
memory  since  the  letter  reached  those  far-a-way  spots 
from  a  field  hospital,  giving  the  last  words  of  some  brave 
soldier  taken  down  by  an  army  nurse.  Words  that  shall 
live  forever  in  the  heart  of  a  mother  or  sweetheart,  hav- 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  15 

ing  been  burnt  in  with  the  first  reading  of  the  precious 
document,  with  the  onrush  of  hot  tears  that  are  God- 
sent  to  ease  and  not  break  the  heart. 

The  Rockies  are  reached  and  passed,  and  with  each 
hour  comes  the  promise  of  spring,  until  we  rush  down 
from  the  mountain  tops  into  the  arms  of  sunny  Cali- 
fornia; lovely  California  with  orange  trees  in  fruit,  and 
great  slopes  and  fields  of  yellow  poppies  that  rival  the 
lupin  with  their  purple  haze,  covering  the  foot  hills. 
We  pinch  ourselves  to  see  if  it  is  not  all  a  dream,  and 
that  we  are  wide  awake  and  not  dreaming  this  golden 
dream!  Ever  and  always  the  same  thought  comes, 
"Why  does  not  every  one  live  here  in  this  narrow  ledge 
of  the  Western  coast  of  the  United  States,  where  the 
climate  is  the  same  twelve  months  a  year — never  cold 
in  winter,  thanks  to  the  mighty  wall  of  mountains 
protecting  it  from  the  East — never  hot  in  summer,  due 
to  the  same  watch-dog  mountains  that  imprison  the 
cool  air  as  it  blows  from  the  Japan  Current.  The  Pacific 
Ocean,  with  its  great  fields  of  kelp  floating  in  lovely 
purple  and  yellow  patches  on  the  sea,  giving  it  the 
effect  of  Joseph's  coat  of  many  colors  and  simultan- 
eously reflecting  the  azure  sky,  is  a  perfect  picture  and 
one  to  set  one  dreaming  for  a  life  time." 

Leaving  the  overland  train  at  Oakland  mole,  we  em- 
barked on  the  huge  ferry  boat,  and  as  the  latter  ap- 
proached San  Francisco,  we  were  reminded  of  New 
York  with  its  high  sky  line,  imparting  a  different  im- 
pression nevertheless.  On  landing  we  thought  it  must 


16  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

be  some  feast  day,  for  the  street  corner  stands  were 
piled  high  with  flowers  that  seemed  like  great  banks  of 
blossoms.  You  can  here  buy  your  arms  full  of  flowers 
for  twenty-five  cents.  Great  tubs  of  violets,  at  a  few 
cents  a  bunch,  are  waiting  to  be  sent  home  or  to  a 
hospital  to  gladden  some  sick,  tired,  shut-in  person. 
At  one  stand  I  counted  twenty  different  kinds  of  blos- 
soms. Heliotrope  and  calla  lilies  are  used  for  high 
hedges.  Can  you  picture  your  backyard  fence  consisting 
of  a  wonderful  wall  of  heliotrope  or  lilies?  No  wonder 
these  Western  folk  have  a  bright,  cheery  viewpoint  of 
life  with  such  an  outlook! 


NEfT  YORK  TO  PEKING  77 


CHAPTER  III 

WE  ARE  not  sorry  our  sailing  date  has  been  post- 
poned for  two  weeks  due  to  the  dock  strikes,  for 
it  only  means  added  play  time  in  this  summer  land.  Our 
heads  were  turned  and  our  hearts  gladdened  by  brother 
Ed  and  nephew  Bill — both  bachelors — wishing  to  come 
from  the  remote  points  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  to  be  with 
us  while  awaiting  the  departure  of  our  ship.  These  two 
good  chaps  are  doing  everything  to  give  us  a  jolly  time, 
and  are  more  than  succeeding,  what  with  planning  din- 
ners on  the  beach  and  elsewhere,  dancing,  motoring  and 
making  excursions  back  into  the  hills  where  great  red- 
wood trees  with  their  giant  trunks  and  limbs  look  down 
on  us  with  their  superior  age  and  dignified  bearing. 

At  last  our  ship,  the  Korea  Maru^  sailed,  having  been 
delayed  in  San  Francisco  sixteen  days  by  a  stevedore 
and  longshoremen's  strike.  We  had,  after  many  post- 
ponements, begun  to  wonder  if  we  ever  should  start  on 
our  long-planned,  much  discussed  trip  to  the  Far  East. 
If  the  Longshoremen's  Union  had  had  anything  to  do 
with  it,  we  should  probably  still  be  on  our  own  soil.  So 
when  the  last  announced  date,  October  2yth,  finally 
dawned,  we  were  more  than  eager  and  ready  to  be  off. 
Our  cabin  we  found  so  full  of  evidences  of  our  thoughtful 
friends  that  it  was  difficult  to  place  our  bags  and  steamer 


i8  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

trunks.  Baskets  of  flowers  as  high  as  one's  head,  ham- 
pers of  fruit,  as  only  California  can  produce,  candy  of 
all  kinds,  books  on  every  subject,  and  last  but  by  no 
means  least,  a  fat  bundle  of  letters  and  telegrams  that 
caused  a  lump  in  my  throat,  a  veil  of  mist  before  my 
eyes,  knowing  how  our  dear  ones  had  taken  great  pains 
to  plan  these  pleasant  things  for  us. 

Our  "Big  Four"  lined  the  promenade  deck  rail  as  the 
huge  liner  slipped  out  to  sea  through  the  Golden  Gate, 
giving  us  a  picture  of  the  city  with  its  hills,  the  streets 
running  straight  up  and  over  the  tops  like  white  ribbons 
in  the  sunlight.  It  was  a  gorgeous  autumn  day.  The 
Twin  Peaks  stood  guard  over  the  city  like  loving  parents 
watching  their  children  the  smaller  hills,  the  latter  fairly 
teeming  with  life.  We  turned  our  faces  westward,  and 
being  tramps  by  instinct  and  at  heart,  we  are  all  ex- 
pectant and  anxious  to  know  what  the  distant  horizon 
holds  in  store  for  us. 

We  go  below  to  settle  ourselves  for  a  seventeen  days 
voyage  by  unpacking  our  bags,  taking  stock  of  our  gen- 
erous supply  of  fruit  and  other  eatables — most  of  which 
we  consign  to  the  ship's  refrigerator  to  enjoy  their  fresh- 
ness later  on — and  arrange  ourselves  snug  and  "comfy," 
as  we  understand  that  term,  and  now  that  we  are  really 
on  our  way  on  this  important  leg  of  our  big  trip,  I  be- 
think myself  of  the  dear  ones  left  behind,  of  the  many 
kindnesses  they  have  showered  upon  me,  and  I  utter  a 
silent  prayer  that  they  will  not  forget  me  as  my  absence 
of  days  grows  into  weeks  and  the  weeks  into  months. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  79 

Our  cabin  boy  is  a  Chinese  named  Tom  Tom,  a  big 
North  China  specimen,  who  seemingly  looks  down  upon 
me  and  all  my  numerous  trappings  with  which  my  state- 
room is  filled,  and  I  can  scarcely  blame  him.  We  Ameri- 
cans seem  to  think  we  can  find  happiness  by  owning 
many  things.  When  shall  we  learn  that  true  happiness 
comes  from  within,  and  that  our  food,  clothing  and  other 
physical  comforts  mean  nothing  if  our  hearts  and  minds 
are  not  at  peace. 

It  is  difficult  to  believe  it  is  October  and  not  June  for, 
as  I  write,  a  soft  light  breeze  comes  through  the  open 
port,  balmy  indeed.  In  a  few  days  time  the  deck  swim- 
ming tank  will  be  erected,  where  the  hardy  swimming 
enthusiast  dives  and  cavorts  to  his  heart's  content.  I 
think  him  brave,  surely,  for  I  cannot  avoid  reflecting 
what  would  happen  if  a  big  wave  were  to  submerge  the 
tank  and  wash  all  out  to  sea!  Having  this  in  my  mind  I 
shun  the  tank,  contenting  myself  with  a  dip  in  my  own 
little  tub  of  sea  water. 

We  are  all  interested  in  a  land  bird  foolish  enough  to 
get  into  the  rigging,  doubtless  while  in  port,  forgetting 
to  get  off  until  too  late  to  make  shore.  After  four  day's 
time  it  was  still  with  us,  sharing  the  food  and  water  pro- 
vided for  two  dogs  having  their  kennels  on  the  after 
deck.  We  all  hold  our  breaths  when  this  brave,  interest- 
ing feathered  stowaway  takes  its  daily  exercise  by  flying 
out  over  the  waves  and  back  again  into  the  rigging.  I  am 
wondering  what  thrilling  story  it  will  tell  if  lucky  enough 
to  reach  the  shores  of  one  of  the  Hawaiian  islands. 


20  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  WAS  awakened  early  the  morning  of  our  landing  at 
Honolulu  by  the  sailors  making  fast  the  rope-ladder 
for  the  use  of  the  pilot,  the  port  doctor  and  customs  in- 
spectors, as  they  board  our  good  ship  for  the  usual  for- 
malities on  an  occasion  of  this  kind.  We  were  still  out  at 
sea.  I  put  on  a  bath  robe,  a  long  coat  and  slippers  and 
stepped  out  on  deck.  The  dawn  was  breaking  and  long 
fingers  of  light  were  stretching  out  in  a  loving  manner 
over  the  heavens,  replacing  the  stars  with  the  golden 
light  of  the  coming  sun.  There  was  still  enough  shadow 
in  spots  to  allow  the  stars  to  look  upon  the  Great  Show— 
which  is  so  old  and  yet  so  beautifully  fresh  and  young — 
the  dawn  of  a  new  day.  While  I  watched  the  lights  and 
shadows  upon  the  waves,  the  sun  came  up  out  of  the 
distant  East,  making  of  our  ship's  wake  a  golden 
thread  in  the  deep  green  expanse  of  ocean.  The  ship's 
bow  was  pointed  to  a  tiny  speck  on  the  horizon  that 
grew  and  grew  under  the  occult  power  of  the  dawn.  We 
were  quietly  rolling  along  toward  the  island  of  Oahu. 
Diamond  Head  greeted  me  in  all  his  great  peace  as  he 
stands  watch  over  the  Island,  welcoming  me  with  sol- 
emn dignity.  Now  I  could  see  a  line  of  white  surf  break- 
ing far  out  from  shore,  then  rolling  in  upon  the  beach 
where  stately  pineapple  palms  stretched  themselves  like 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  21 

giant  spiders  against  the  sky  line.  Spread  before  me  was 
a  picture  that  seemed  to  have  come  out  of  a  story  book, 
reminding  me  in  fact  of  Robinson  Crusoe.  I  fancied  I 
could  see  his  hut  far  up  under  the  trees,  and  surely 
could  that  be  he  with  his  big  umbrella  and  his  faithful 
man  Friday?  No,  my  dream  Robinson  Crusoe  has 
turned  into  a  Chinese  deck  steward  asking  if  "Missie 
would  like  tea  on  deck?"  Rudely  awakened  from  my  day 
dreams,  now  hanging  in  space,  I  gave  a  fleeting  glance 
over  my  shoulder  down  the  long  empty  deck  and  out 
upon  the  nearing  land,  where  I  saw  the  Island  like  a 
jewel  while  the  sun  was  giving  it  its  full  blessing.  It 
was  vibrating  with  light  and  warmth  in  the  promise  of 
another  day.  Then  recalling  my  very  informal  garb,  I 
precipitately  dashed  into  my  cabin  and  bath,  to  start 
the  day  as  only  a  civilized  human  should. 

In  a  few  hours  we  were  alongside  a  very  business-like 
wharf,  being  made  fast  while  Hawaiian  voices  were 
singing  their  sweet  plaintive  songs  of  half  tones  and 
minor  keys,  touching  the  heart  as  no  other  native  songs 
can,  and  bringing  to  the  surface  forgotten  days  when 
life  was  young  and  when  we  saw  it  only  through  rose- 
colored  glasses. 


22  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  VI 

\  FEW  good  island  friends  met  us,  covering  our  necks 
.ZjL  with  flower  lais,  taking  possession  of  us  for  the 
day.  A  lovely  motor  trip,  a  visit  to  the  Aquarium,  lunch- 
eon at  the  Club,  tea  at  the  home  of  our  hospitable 
guides,  and  safely  delivered  back  to  our  ship  in  ample 
time  of  her  departure.  Such  was  the  wonderful  day  at 
Honolulu. 

Our  cabins  had  again  been  rilled  with  flowers — and 
joy  of  joys — a  wonderful  cocoanut  cake  made  with  fresh 
cocoanut — and  tasting  as  no  other  cake  ever  tasted,  was 
among  the  gifts  from  much  traveled  Amy  and  Harry, 
who  had  cabled  their  instructions  so  successfully.  I  hate 
to  think  of  the  pounds  this  delicious  pastry  is  sure  to 
put  on  me,  for  I  am  simply  weak-minded  when  it  comes 
to  such  goodies. 

We  watched  native  boys  diving  for  pennies,  admiring 
their  skill  and  marveling  at  their  courage,  for  there  were 
rumors  of  sharks,  bold  enough  to  come  into  the  harbor 
for  fresh  dark  meat. 

The  day  was  going.  The  same  beautiful  day  I  had 
seen  come  into  being  seemingly  but  a  few  hours  before. 
The  ship  slowly  steamed  out  of  the  narrow  channel  and 
set  her  course  for  Japan.  Once  again  I  looked  towards 
Diamond  Head  and  this  time  received  a  sleepy  good 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  23 

night  from  this  watching  sentinel,  with  an  added  "bon 
voyage"  from  the  blinking  lighthouse.  I  turned  in  to  my 
cabin  fatigued,  but  conscious  of  having  enjoyed  a  happy 
day.  A  big  moon  now  streamed  through  the  port  as  it 
flitted  in  and  out  of  the  fleecy  clouds,  making  the  gently 
rolling  sea  a  veritable  shimmer  of  silver.  I  had  stoutly 
maintained  to  the  BifFys  and  R.  that  I  plainly  saw  phos- 
phorescent lights,  but  was  not  only  laughed  at  for  my 
vivid  imagination,  but  lengthy  arguments  were  intro- 
duced to  prove  conclusively  that  my  sleepy  eyes  de- 
ceived me.  What  is  it  about  a  woman  convinced  against 
her  will?  Well,  I  am  that  particular  woman  and  still  be- 
lieve the  sea  was  alive  with  phosphorescent  lights. 

Never  shall  I  cease  congratulating  ourselves  that  we 
are  blessed  with  such  heavenly  weather  at  sea  this  time 
of  the  year  (early  November).  The  sun  shines  so  bright 
and  sheds  delicious  warmth,  the  ocean  is  extremely  well- 
behaved,  like  a  mountain  lake,  almost  reflecting  the  big 
featherbed  effect  clouds  that  nose  about  like  sleepy 
puppies  in  the  deep  blue  heavens. 

Our  party  of  four  good  pals  spend  much  time  on  deck, 
giving  particular  attention  to  the  reading  of  guide  books 
on  the  various  countries  we  have  planned  to  visit,  con- 
sequently we  are  so  mixed  we  finally  do  not  know  one 
country  from  another,  having  difficulty  to  visualize  the 
wonders  of  each,  before  we  have  actually  seen  them. 

Reports  as  to  the  Chinese  boycott  of  Japan  and  of 
Korea's  dissatisfaction  with  Japanese  rule,  reach  us  in 
probably  exaggerated  form;  nevertheless,  we  cannot 


24  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

help  wondering  if  we  shall  not  be  witnesses  of  some  of 
the  manifestations  of  these  racial  disputes,  as  the  feeling 
appears  to  be  very  strong  on  both  sides.  Our  ship's  list 
of  passengers  contains  many  Japanese,  most  of  whom 
are  returning  students  from  educational  institutions  in 
the  United  States  of  America  and  England  respectively. 
Books  on  socialism,  efficiency  and  similar  topics  engaged 
the  attention  of  most  of  them.  Brief  conversations  with 
them  convinced  one  that  there  was  little  of  importance 
transpiring  in  our  country  or  in  England,  that  made  for 
national  growth  and  advancement,  that  escaped  their 
observation.  The  Japanese  suggest  the  Germans — every 
thought,  every  act  for  themselves  and  their  nation. 
Aboard  our  ship  a  little  eighteen  months  old  kiddie  has 
been  taught  to  stand  at  attention  and  cry  out  "Banzai" 
— the  national  salute  to  his  Emperor  and  Country. 
This  round-faced,  slant-eyed  baby  is  a  pure  product  of 
Japan,  without  a  drop  of  strange  blood  in  his  veins,  and 
a  living  symbol  of  this  nation's  conceit  and  what  they 
are  striving  to  become. 

Baron  Goto,  sometimes  termed  the  "mad  dog  of 
Japan,"  is  a  shipmate  but  appears  very  peaceful  and  in- 
offensive. We  sat  together  the  other  evening — and  he 
never  bit  me — watching  the  native  crew  going  through 
their  wrestling  bouts,  a  very  ceremonious  proceeding  in 
Japan.  The  participants  did  well  and  appeared  like  fine 
bronze  figures,  sitting  in  a  true  circle  around  the  ring 
awaiting  their  turn  to  contest.  Overhead  was  a  canopy 
of  purple  and  yellow,  with  suspended  bags  of  salt.  As  the 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  25 

wrestlers  met  in  the  centre  of  the  ring  to  receive  instruc- 
tions, they  would  presently  turn  toward  a  salt  bag,  ex- 
tract one  pinch  for  their  tongues  and  another  pinch  to 
be  thrown  over  the  left  shoulder  for  luck,  and  then  they 
would  go  at  it — not  without  being  directly  under  the 
centre  of  the  canopy,  however,  from  which  was  hanging 
a  fancy  paper  design,  acting  no  doubt  as  a  good  luck 
charm.  Immediately  preceding  each  match,  a  very  im- 
pressive personage  with  a  high  black  hat  and  bright 
kimono,  carrying  a  fan,  would  announce  the  names  of 
the  contestants,  their  records,  etc.  All  this  in  sing-song 
blank  verse  that  put  you  quite  in  the  spirit  of  the  middle 
ages  and  ancient  Japan.  I  rather  like  these  little  bronze 
men  who  smile  so  easily,  take  to  games  like  ducks  to 
water,  and  seem  like  children  in  the  playing  of  them. 
Baron  acted  throughout  this  interesting  performance 
like  a  European  or  American,  never  seeming  to  lose  his 
self-control,  while  the  other  Japanese  gentlemen  present 
gave  vent  to  their  excited  emotions  by  throwing  money 
into  the  arena,  loudly  shouting  approval  or  derision  as 
the  contest  proceeded.  It  was  an  interesting  evening's 
entertainment. 

R.  has  been  made  chairman  of  the  finance  committee 
for  deck  sports  which  involves  taking  up  a  subscription 
among  the  passengers  for  funds  to  purchase  inexpensive 
articles  for  prizes  (to  be  bought  from  the  ship's  barber) 
and  the  remaining  fund  to  go  to  the  fund  for  Japanese 
seamen.  Baron  Goto  was  asked  to  head  the  list  of  sub- 
scribers and  he  set  so  good  an  example  that  other  gener- 


26  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

ous  givers  followed,  with  the  result  that  $550.00  was 
subscribed,  an  unusually  large  sum,  and  one  that  estab- 
lished the  high  record  for  the  Korea  Maru.  The  sports 
were  varied  and  amusing,  young  and  old,  male  and  fe- 
male and  all  races  participating.  They  were  confined,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  to  first  cabin  passengers.  Musical 
chairs,  cock  fights,  thread-the-needle,  light  the  cigarette, 
sack  races  and  other  innumerable  events  were  arranged 
and  carried  out  to  the  amusement  of  the  on-lookers,  of 
whom  there  were  many.  Thus  several  hours  of  each 
afternoon  for  the  elapsed  time  between  Honolulu  and 
Yokohama  were  pleasantly  spent,  culminating  in  the 
ceremony  of  awarding  prizes,  combined  with  a  special 
dinner  given  to  the  ship's  company  by  its  commander, 
at  which  fancy  dress  was  the  costume.  In  anticipation 
of  this  latter  event  for  days  one  ransacked  one's  mind 
as  to  what  would  constitute  a  proper  fancy  dress,  fol- 
lowed by  ransacking  one's  luggage  for  inspiration.  It  is 
truly  wonderful  what  human  ingenuity  will  design  in 
matters  of  this  kind  and  under  circumstances  such  as  I 
have  described,  for  the  Captain's  dinner  was  a  huge 
success  in  the  number,  variety  and  merit  of  the  cos- 
tumes worn.  Then  and  there,  most  of  us  vowed  never 
to  cross  the  Pacific  without  being  equipped  with  a  fancy 
dress  garb  in  our  roll  of  rugs.  The  dinner  was  extra  spe- 
cial, the  awarding  speeches  very  fitting,  and  finally  all 
American  voices  joined  in  the  "Star  Spangled  Banner" 
quite  as  lustily,  even  if  the  words  were  not  so  plainly 
enunciated,  as  when  the  Japanese  held  forth  with  their 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  27 

national  anthem,  or  the  Britishers  with  "God  Save  the 
King."  This  was  followed  by  dancing  on  deck,  until  a 
squall  and  a  bit  of  rough  sea  transferred  the  tripping 
into  the  salon  and  passage  ways. 


28  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  VI 

TOMORROW  we  cross  the  line  of  the  i  Both  meridian 
and  besides  putting  our  time  one-half  hour  ahead 
of  that  prevailing  today,  we  shall  also  have  the  unique 
sensation  of  having  lost  a  whole  day,  in  other  words  we 
go  from  Wednesday  to  Friday.  This  particular  spot  is 
wasteful  of  time  for  the  west-bound  voyager,  but  thrifty 
of  the  same  article  for  the  east-bound.  When  we  return 
we  shall  get  back  that  day  by  having  two  Wednesdays 
or  Thursdays,  as  the  case  may  be.  Efforts  to  explain  this 
matter  to  me  have  failed  dismally,  so  I  must  accept  it 
as  a  proper  fact.  I  am,  nevertheless,  reminded  of  my 
good  old  darkey  cook  in  Virginia,  who  listened  atten- 
tively when  I  explained  the  putting  ahead  of  our  clocks 
when  the  daylight  saving  law  went  into  effect  during 
the  war  days.  The  reasons  for  it  were  put  in  as  simple 
language  as  I  could  command.  Old  Lizzie  obediently 
acquiesced  in  what  she  was  told  to  do,  but  nevertheless 
relieved  her  mind  with:  "Why  bless  my  soul,  Miss 
Blanche,  that  man  in  Washington  must  think  himself 
Jesus  Christ,  to  think  he  can  make  de  sun  come  up 
earlier!" 

It  does  not  seem  possible  that  we  are  on  the  vast  Pa- 
cific, for  it  is  truly  like  a  mill  pond.  Nevertheless  we  are 
hearing  all  kinds  of  stories  that  "the  worst  is  yet  to 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  29 

come,"  and  that  turbulent  seas  and  strong  winds  are  to 
be  encountered  before  Japan's  shores  heave  in  sight.  It 
is  a  comforting  thought  to  know  that  only  two  days 
more  are  ahead  of  us.  At  the  "movies"  last  night  Lady 
Peale,  sitting  directly  in  front,  was  overheard  relating 
a  most  thrilling  story  to  her  companion,  delivered  with 
an  air  of  assurance,  to  the  effect  that  it  was  indeed  a 
bad  omen  that  our  big  ship  was  listing  to  port,  that  a 
number  of  rats  had  been  seen  on  deck,  that  the  glass 
was  falling,  and  that  all  this  portended  a  horrible  night 
with  fearful  consequences.  Immediately  we  pictured  to 
ourselves  all  the  phases  of  a  disaster  at  sea,  even  saw 
ourselves  taking  to  the  life  boats,  wondering  if  my  bath 
robe  over  my  night  dress  would  be  adequately  warm. 
How  a  foolish  tongue  is  apt  to  form  bad  impressions.  It 
only  tends  to  show  how  we  should  guard  every  uttered 
word,  or  even  a  very  thought — for  the  creation  of  a 
thought  vibration  is  surely  a  big  responsibility,  as  there 
is  no  telling  how  it  may  influence  you  or  your  neighbor. 
As  I  look  skyward  through  the  four  wires  extending 
from  the  masthead,  and  connecting  with  the  wireless 
instrument  below — a  little  bit  of  a  piece  of  mechanism — 
and  realize  that  messages  come  to  it  out  of  that  clear 
blue  atmosphere,  the  innocent  looking  heavens,  I  stand 
in  awe,  knowing  and  appreciating  that  thoughts  are 
things,  that  man  is  fast  learning  his  lesson,  bringing 
it  down  into  practical  everyday  life.  How  few  there 
are  who,  looking  at  this  scientifically  constructed  ma- 
chine on  board  our  ship,  that  know  and  feel  it  is 


jo  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

the   nearest  thing  to  the  spiritual  side  of  life  that  we 
encounter. 

On  this  lovely  Sunday  morning  I  had  found  a  dear 
little  corner  on  the  bridge  deck,  on  the  leeward  side  and 
behind  the  stowed  life  boats.  Here  I  could  unob- 
structedly  see  the  sea  and  watch  the  ship  turn  over  great 
furrows  in  the  deep  expanse  of  blue  water.  From  a  deck 
below  the  strains  of  a  hymn  would  come  to  me,  then  in- 
distinct tones  of  the  sermon  being  delivered  by  the  mis- 
sionary divine  who  was  officiating  at  service — doubtless 
preaching  a  good  lesson.  All  at  once  the  wireless  ticked 
out  a  message,  probably  from  the  States  and  coming 
such  a  distance,  undoubtedly  of  much  importance.  In- 
voluntarily I  was  wrapped  in  contemplation  of  how  very 
human  and  spiritual  it  was,  and  how  man  had  actually 
tapped  the  God  thought  in  the  development  of  this 
science.  But  how  few,  how  very  few  there  were  that 
Sunday  morning  to  allow  their  thought  prayers  to  run 
up  to  God  through  these  four  little  wires,  through  the 
medium  of  the  brightly  polished  instrument,  or  how 
few  realized  that  we  have  placed  our  feet  on  the  first 
step  of  the  ladder  to  enable  us  to  reach  the  goal  whence 
God  and  our  souls  will  be  made  manifest  to  us  through 
Love  and  knowledge,  rather  than  by  fear  and  super- 
stition. And,  as  I  said  before,  we  must  curb  our  thougths 
and  tongues,  as  the  four  wires  and  brightly  polished 
wires  in  the  other  fellow's  mind  may  get  our  impres- 
sions, and  we  must  see  that  our  messages  are  worth 
remembering,  or  fit  for  reproduction. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  31 

To  Lady  Peale  I  am  indebted  for  a  wakeful  night 
followed  by  a  headache.  The  Korea  Maru  did  not  turn 
bottom  side  up,  and  the  rats  are  still  on  board  for  I 
saw  one  a  moment  ago  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye, 
neither  was  my  bath  robe  used  to  cover  my  robe  de 
nuity  as  I  embarked  in  the  much  dreaded  life  boat.  So 
who  denies  that  thoughts  are  things?  If  I  put  this  ques- 
tion to  our  four  business-like  looking  wires,  I  am  sure 
they  will  want  to  tick  back,  "Not  I." 

We  crowed  too  soon  about  our  perfectly  marvelous 
crossing,  for  the  last  day  out  punished  us  for  boasting. 
After  the  passengers  had  their  dance  last  night,  Korea 
Maru  tried  her  hand,  or  whatever  else  she  uses,  at  a 
bit  of  dancing  herself  and  I  should  say  with  complete 
success.  The  striking  into  the  Japan  current,  or  "black 
stream,"  is  usually  attended  with  more  or  less  excite- 
ment of  this  kind,  but  it  was  over  in  due  time  and  then 
we  were  met  by  the  port  pilot  to  conduct  us  into  beauti- 
ful Yokohama  harbor.  The  doctor  came  from  quaran- 
tine station  to  inspect  us  and  make  certain  we  were  not 
smuggling  the  plague  or  other  dreadful  things  into  the 
land  of  the  Rising  Sun.  Then  came  the  passport  in- 
spectors, with  true  oriental  inquisitiveness  as  to  why 
people  with  good  homes  want  to  leave  them — all  this 
time  our  ship  was  being  warped  into  her  wharf — what- 
ever that  may  mean. 


32  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  VII 

MRS.  BIFFY,  who  surely  has  second  sight  and  the 
keenest  human  sense  of  observation  of  any  living 
mortal,  stood  at  the  promenade  rail  looking  out  upon 
hundreds  of  people  who  lined  the  pier  at  which  we  were 
to  be  docked.  Suddenly  she  came  to  me  and  said,  "I  do 
believe  I  see  Billy  K."  Said  I,  "But  how  in  the  world 
did  you  ever  know  Billy  K?"  "I  don't  know  him — I  only 
have  an  intuition  that  the  big  handsome  chap  is  your 
friend,  and  that  he  has  been  craning  his  neck  for  the 
past  quarter  of  an  hour  to  see  you."  Frantic  salutations 
between  ourselves  and  Billie  K.  were  established  at 
once,  long-distance  introductions  of  our  friends,  the 
Biffys,  effected,  and  then  we  awaited  with  much  impa- 
tience our  actually  accomplished  arrival  on  Japanese 
soil.  Billie  K.  extended  a  warm  welcome  indeed,  par- 
ticularly appreciated  as  the  big-hearted  soul  had  spent 
hours  on  the  chilly  pier  awaiting  the  ship's  arrival. 

I  think  Mrs.  Biffy  and  I  were  a  bit  disappointed  to 
find  a  motor  car  awaiting  us,  thanks  to  Billie  K.'s  fore- 
sight, for  we  had  imagined  ourselves  being  transported 
to  our  hotel  in  rickshaws  that  were  lined  up  expectantly, 
like  Grandpa  go-carts.  It  turned  out  later  that  it  was 
fortunate  for  us  to  have  had  the  luxurious  Fierce-Arrow, 
for  the  rooms  the  Grand  Hotel  had  agreed  to  reserve  for 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  33 

us  were  not  available,  nor  was  there  anything  besides  a 
billiard  table  on  which  to  lay  our  weary  heads  to  be 
had,  hence  we  dashed  about  from  hotel  to  hotel,  well 
in  advance  of  the  aforesaid  Grandpa  go-carts,  and  se- 
cured a  resting  place  at  the  Oriental  Palace  Hotel, 
where  we  soon  ate  our  first  tiffin  in  the  East.  A  few 
hours  later  found  us  having  tea  with  our  hospitable 
friends,  the  Paul  M.'s,  enjoying  the  touch  of  a  real 
home,  and  adoring  the  big  hearted  hostess  behind  her 
tea  tray,  who  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  a  dozen 
people  should  happen  in  quite  informally  to  sip  the  cup 
that  cheers  and  discuss  world  topics,  for  these  people 
must  of  necessity  be  international,  and  not  local  or  pro- 
vincial. It  was  an  interesting  phase  of  things  to  observe, 
how  the  Western  nations  fraternize  when  they  abide  in 
the  far  East. 

Our  Ambassador,  Mr.  Roland  Morris,  bade  us  to  an 
informal  tiffin  at  the  Embassy  in  Tokyo,  upon  present- 
ing our  letters  of  introduction  to  him.  He  asked  us  if 
he  could  serve  us  in  any  possible  way,  and  we  broadly 
hinted  that  the  Emperor's  Chrysanthemum  Garden 
Party  would  be  a  function  we  should  like  to  attend, 
could  he  secure  invitations  for  our  party?  Alas!  and 
alack!  the  foreign  embassies  are  limited  as  to  the  num- 
ber of  invitations  they  can  command,  and  the  lists  had 
not  only  been  filled  a  few  days  ago,  but  the  time  for 
applying  for  privileges  had  expired,  and  moreover  the 
Ambassador  had  promised  not  to  ask  for  any  unusual 
courtesies,  having  been  granted  an  exceptional  favor  at 


34  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

the  previous  Garden  Party;  so  it  looked  mighty  unfav- 
orable for  us  until  the  Ambassador  volunteered  to  see 
what  he  could  do,  saying  that  as  we  were  all  so  closely 
associated  in  American  Red  Cross  work  during  the 
trying  times  of  1917-18,  the  least  he  could  do  would  be 
to  draw  upon  his  resources  for  providing  us  with  the  de- 
sired "commands"  to  appear  at  the  Garden  Party.  A 
few  days  later  he  informed  us  that  all  had  been  ar- 
ranged, to  our  satisfaction.  It  seems  he  had  recalled 
that  R.  had  assisted  in  the  entertainment  of  Prince 
Tokugawa,  when  the  latter  visited  Washington  in 
charge  of  a  Japanese  Red  Cross  mission — at  any  rate 
the  impressive  invitations  were  forthcoming,  and  we  are 
delighted  at  the  prospect  of  attending.  Uppermost  in 
the  minds  of  Mrs.  Biffy  and  myself  is  the  question— 
what  to  wear?  Our  men  have  gone  to  local  Chinese 
tailors  for  their  long  frock  coats,  as  no  other  garment 
would  be  tolerated.  Thank  heaven,  they  have  brought 
their  own  top  hats  of  recent  vintage,  for  one  hates  to 
think  what  they  might  get  if  they  undertook  to  provide 
themselves  here;  so  in  due  time  we  are  off  to  see  and 
meet  the  Imperial  family  of  this  little,  but  powerful 
island. 

The  Garden  Party  in  the  autumn  is  the  celebration 
of  the  Chrysanthemum,  corresponding  to  the  Cherry 
Blossom  Garden  Party  in  the  Springtime.  Of  our  partic- 
ular Garden  Party  I  will  speak  later. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I  HAVE  engaged  an  "amah,"  and  as  she  sits  on  the 
floor  in  her  gaily  colored  kimonos,  darning  my  ugly 
black  stockings,  what  do  you  suppose  she  thinks  of  me, 
surrounded  by  so  many  seemingly  unnecessary  things. 
For  you  certainly  are  impressed  with  the  little  it  takes  in 
the  East  to  make  the  natives  happy.  Despite  the  fact 
that  both  Japanese  men  and  women  put  on  one  silk 
kimono  on  top  of  the  other,  not  unlike  a  head  of  lettuce, 
the  dark  and  heavy  ones  on  the  outside,  the  dainty  col- 
orful ones  next  to  their  bodies — the  garb  presents  a  neat 
and  simple  effect.  It  is  to  be  deplored  that  the  foreign 
style  of  dressing  is  replacing  the  picturesque  costumes 
of  old  Japan,  and  not  so  much  because  of  the  desire  to 
imitate  the  Americans  and  Europeans,  but  it  has  ac- 
tually resolved  itself  into  an  economic  question.  The 
cost  of  a  man's  suit  of  clothes,  such  as  our  own  men 
wear,  is  about  one  quarter  that  of  the  outfit  worn  by  the 
native  Japanese.  Women's  clothes  are  proportionate  in 
value.  Both  have  reference  to  the  clothes  worn  by  the 
wealthier  classes. 

It  took  but  a  few  minutes  to  make  up  our  minds  to 
take  a  run  up  into  the  mountains,  reluctant  as  we  were 
to  quit  Yokohama,  where  our  good  friends,  the  K.'s  and 
M.'s,  were  killing  us  with  hospitality,  sowed  in  lavish 


j6  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

abundance.  But  our  Japan  stay  was  limited,  and  it 
behooved  us  to  be  on  our  way.  A  two  and  a  half 
hour  railway  ride  through  a  perfectly  charming  ag- 
ricultural country  unfolded  to  our  eyes  a  most  beau- 
tifully cultivated  land,  intensively  tilled,  mostly  by 
women  with  babies  on  their  backs,  standing  knee 
deep  in  the  water  and  mud  of  the  rice  fields.  Others 
engaged  in  harvesting  the  bountiful  crop  were  pulling 
large  armfuls  of  rice  straw  through  quaint  combs,  per- 
forming by  skillful,  industrious  hands  what  our  modern 
machinery  at  home  would  do  in  a  fraction  of  the  time. 
But  human  energy  is  still  inexpensive  in  Japan! 

The  price  of  such  highly  successful  fertilization  of  the 
limitless  fields  of  Japan — for  every  inch  of  it  seems  to 
be  cultivated — is  the  "smell  of  Japan."  It  is  ever-pres- 
ent, particularly  in  the  country,  although  even  the  big 
cities  are  by  no  means  free  from  it.  We  early  made  a 
vow  never  to  eat  anything  grown  above  ground,  that 
had  not  been  cooked. 

At  a  little  station,  Kozu,  we  again  had  a  glimpse  of 
the  sea,  but  upon  taking  the  waiting  motor,  we  turned 
our  backs  upon  it  and  struck  into  the  mountains.  The 
guide  books  mention  this  point  as  one  promising  a  sight 
of  the  sacred  Fujiyama,  but  on  this  particular  mid-day, 
he  failed  to  show.  Fuji  and  I  have  only  met  once — 
notwithstanding  that  this  is  my  second  visit  to  Japan 
— and  that  was  two  days  ago  in  Yokohama.  The  clouds 
cleared  for  an  hour,  and  I  revelled  in  the  sight  of  this 
truly  beautiful  peak,  majestic  beyond  all  words. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  jj 

A  winding  road,  substantially  constructed,  led  us  to 
the  Fujiya  Hotel  at  Miyanoshita,  an  exceedingly  pretty 
spot  accentuated  by  the  blazing  red  maples  that  artisti- 
cally adorned  the  hillside  on  every  hand.  Our  snorting 
motor  car  finally  came  to  a  halt  at  the  door  of  the  hotel, 
where  a  smiling  attendant  opened  our  mud-covered  cur- 
tains and  helped  us  to  alight.  We  ascended  a  broad 
staircase  with  its  red  lacquer  railing  into  a  bright  sun 
glass  parlor,  furnished  with  homey  things  and  contain- 
ing a  huge  cage  of  birds,  singing  their  very  hearts  out. 
Our  rooms  are  delightfully  cozy,  and  overlook  the  hand- 
some grounds  as  well  as  some  adjacent  cottages  or  bun- 
galows. Our  view  covers  a  stretch  of  miles  down  the 
valley  whence  our  lovely  ride  had  taken  us,  and  the 
mountain  sides  are  thickly  covered  with  red  and  yellow 
maples.  Meanwhile  a  mountain  storm  had  set  in,  and 
oh!  how  it  rained! 

Nothing  daunted,  we  put  on  our  rain  coats  and 
started  out  to  see  the  native  village  that  nestled  just  be- 
low us.  A  winding  well-kept  street  of  shops,  little  shops, 
each  quite  like  the  other  in  looks  and  size,  but  differing 
in  the  articles  offered  for  sale.  Wooden  toys  seemed  to 
predominate,  particularly  trick  toys,  followed  by  an  as- 
sortment of  hair  ornaments,  beads,  carvings  and  the 
like.  A  large  establishment  quite  outshone  all  these  les- 
ser ones,  creditable  in  a  city  of  size,  maintained  by  Na- 
kada  Brothers,  whose  stock  of  beautiful  curios,  brass, 
lacquer,  porcelain  and  bronze,  quite  took  our  breath 
away.  Here  we  purchased  two  adorable  temple  lamps 


38  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

(to  use  as  electric  lights)  for  our  Virginia  home,  also 
some  ancient  temple  tassels  and  cords  of  exquisite  pink. 
Back  we  trudged  to  the  hotel  through  mud  and  water  to 
avail  ourselves  of  a  cheery  cup  of  tea  at  the  fire  side 
of  our  comfortable  quarters,  which  quite  blocked  the 
cold  wind  and  rain  that  was  whipping  and  lashing  the 
little  plum  and  cedar  trees  on  the  terrace  below.  Never- 
theless our  thoughts  of  sympathy  were  with  these  na- 
tive hill  people  we  had  just  left,  whom  we  admire  for 
their  sturdiness  and  constant  good  nature.  How  can 
they  derive  sufficient  comfort  in  those  flimsy  buildings, 
with  their  paper  partitions,  windows  and  doors?  And 
still  they  smile,  while  we  depend  upon  a  heated  room,  a 
cup  of  tea,  and  later  the  stimulating  cocktail  before 
dinner,  to  help  us  forget  that  there  is  a  howling  moun- 
tain storm  without. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  39 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  THE  morning  when  I  rang  for  a  fresh  fire,  a  smiling 
little  maid  responded  (coming  in  without  knocking) 
and  soon  had  the  room  dancing  with  firelight.  I  watched 
the  fantastic  shadows  on  the  ceiling,  reflecting  her 
graceful  kimono  arms  adjusting  the  fenders,  and  arrang- 
ing the  fireplace  so  it  was  neat  and  spotless.  Presently 
she  reappeared  with  a  red  lacquer  tray  covered  with 
shining  linen  cloth,  tasteful  blue  and  white  porcelain, 
and  a  breakfast  fit  for  a  queen.  How  lazy  and  mammoth 
I  feel  as  this  dainty,  diminutive  specimen  of  humanity 
places  it  before  me.  The  coffee  steaming  hot,  the  toast 
crisp  and  fresh,  and  a  bit  of  fish  which  I  am  sure  swam 
direct  from  stream  to  kitchen,  with  an  urgent  request  to 
be  cooked  and  served. 

Today  the  sun  is  shining  gloriously,  and  it  is  difficult 
to  believe  it  has  not  constantly  been  shining.  Its  warmth 
fills  our  soul  with  the  joy  of  living.  We  planned  an 
early  breakfast,  for  our  masculine  partners  are  leaving 
us  shortly  after  midday  for  a  brief  absence,  returning  to 
Yokohama  to  attend  a  dinner  of  the  American-Japan 
Society.  So  after  a  trip  to  the  telegraph  office  to  dis- 
patch a  wire  to  Ambassador  Morris,  acknowledging 
with  thanks  the  arrangement  for  our  Garden  Party  in- 
vitations, we  set  off  for  a  long  hike,  Frances  (Mrs.  Biffy) 


40  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

having  posted  herself  from  the  Japanese-speaking  hotel 
porter  as  to  the  course  to  be  steered.  Before  going  two 
miles  we  were  hopelessly  lost  and  retracing  our  steps, 
Frances  soon  redeemed  herself  by  pointing  with  great 
glee  to  a  sign  in  Japanese  characters  in  the  direction  of 
a  hilltop,  whence  we  obtained  a  most  magnificent  view 
of  Fuji,  simultaneously  with  a  view  of  the  sea. 

One  cannot  help  being  impressed  with  the  orderliness 
of  these  little  people.  Their  well  kept  forests,  substan- 
tially constructed  roads,  protected  artistic  waterfalls — 
everything  but  their  children's  noses — they  seem  to  rival 
the  waterfalls  in  running;  it  is  a  pity  that  force  cannot 
be  employed  in  some  way,  as  they  have  controlled 
water  power!  Dear  old  Fuji  was  majestic  and  as  his 
snow-capped  peak  burst  upon  our  view,  it  quite  took 
our  breath  away.  He  seems  so  wise  and  grand,  and  at 
the  same  time,  so  dignified  and  cold.  His  sides  glistened 
in  the  sunlight,  revealing  the  thickly  grown  timber  line. 
No  wonder  he  bears  the  name  of  sacred  mountain,  for  I 
am  sure  you  can  get  a  holy  inspiration  as  you  stand  and 
gaze  at  his  wise  old  head  and  look  to  your  very  heart's 
content,  ere  coming  down  to  earth  again  to  click  your 
camera  shutter  at  him,  knowing  full  well  all  the  time, 
that  the  photograph  you  will  get  will  not  even  give  you 
the  smallest  idea  of  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the 
scene. 

We  kept  on  our  climb,  eventually  reaching  the  sum- 
mit. There  the  sea  again  burst  upon  our  view.  How  per- 
fectly lovely  it  all  was,  the  shore  line  gracefully  curved 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  41 

in  horseshoe  fashion,  extending  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  the  placid  sea  all  aglow.  Little  fishing  villages 
for  miles  and  miles  along  the  coast  looked  like  tiny 
specks,  while  the  numberless  fishing  craft  dotting  the 
huge  bay  appeared  like  lily  petals  in  a  pond. 

Forestration  is  a  successful  science  as  practiced  in  Ja- 
pan. Trees  are  replanted  every  twenty  years,  and  the 
cutting  of  matured  timber  is  carried  on'  with  intelligent 
understanding.  Such  a  wise  system  compared  with  our 
own  wasteful  cutting  whenever  and  wherever  com- 
mercial fancy  dictates,  with  never  a  thought  for  the 
generations  to  follow.  Speaking  of  these  little  tracts  of 
timber,  grown  in  twenty  year  cycles,  a  strange  thing 
happened.  R.  and  I  were  together  making  this  charming 
climb  to  Fuji-view,  and  my  fur  boa  becoming  burden- 
some, R.  asked  to  carry  it  for  me.  Upon  reaching  the 
end  of  the  climb  the  boa  was  missing.  The  thought  in- 
stantly flashed  across  my  mind,  "Don't  worry,  you  will 
find  it  on  the  way  home  under  the  trees,"  (a  picture 
of  which  likewise  was  reflected  in  my  mind).  It  should 
be  explained  that  most  of  the  trail  led  through  dense 
underbrush,  only  here  and  there  it  was  bordered  by  the 
growing  pines.  Sure  enough,  upon  coming  to  a  clump  of 
trees,  marking  a  turn  in  the  trail-path,  there  lay  the 
missing  fur  boa,  illustrating  the  correctness,  at  times, 
of  our  subconscious  mind.  Were  it  not  so  commonplace, 
one  might  feel  "spooky"  about  such  happenings. 

Our  men  sidepartners  have  left  us  for  a  day,  and  we 
girls  are  preparing  for  a  "lone  dinner,"  wondering  how 


42  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

we  can  manage  a  cocktail  without  resorting  to  under- 
hand methods,  so  we  decide  upon  an  open  and  above 
board  play,  simplying  ordering  it  in  the  lounge-room 
and  consuming  it  as  indifferently  as  it  is  possible  for 
us  to  do  so.  Then  we  dined  in  solitary  grandeur. 

Tomorrow  is  the  date  fixed  for  the  arrival  of  the  first 
mail  from  home,  and  heaven  help  all  my  near  and  dear 
ones  if  you  are  not  fully  and  appropriately  represented. 


43 


CHAPTER  X 

"XJOVEMBER  21,  1919,  the  day  of  the  Emperor's 
-L  i  Garden  Party.  The  elements  were  neither  kind  nor 
considerate,  for  it  rained  and  then  it  rained  some  more. 
Specific  instructions,  accompanying  the  invitations, 
prescribed  the  dress — we  women  in  afternoon  frocks, 
the  men  in  long  coats  and  top  hats — so  we  had  no  alter- 
native but  to  obey.  Hip  boots,  it  seemed  to  me,  would 
have  been  more  fitting. 

Our  staying  in  Yokohama  necessitated  a  ride  to 
Tokyo,  1 8  miles  away,  and  upon  arrival  we  packed  our- 
selves in  an  automobile  of  very  restricted  dimensions, 
our  overdressed  husbands  managing  their  shiny  tiles 
with  considerable  difficulty.  We  stopped  at  the  U.  S. 
Embassy  for  our  cards  of  admission  to  the  Imperial 
grounds,  and  soon  after  presented  them  at  an  imposing 
gate,  to  reach  which  we  crossed  the  double-moated 
palace  wall-enclosure.  The  general  aspect  of  the  Em- 
peror's abode  is  quite  like  any  well-maintained  Euro- 
pean monarch's  palace,  but  the  grounds  differ  in  that  the 
art  of  the  Japanese  shines  prominently,  converting  the 
landscape  into  a  scene  that  is  at  once  a  delight  and  com- 
fort to  the  eye.  After  wending  our  way  through  beauti- 
ful paths,  mingling  with  hundreds  of  other  guests  of 
every  nationality,  guided  by  liveried  lackeys  whose  gor- 


44  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

geous  raiment  was  drooping  with  soddenness,  we  came 
to  the  exhibition  tents  where  the  Chrysanthemum  was 
King.  Words  fail  me  to  describe  this  magnificent  dis- 
play of  horticulture,  developed  to  the  highest  degree  un- 
der imperial  authority  and  direction,  and  here  sub- 
jected to  the  public  gaze — or  such  of  the  public  for- 
tunate enough  to  be  bidden — a  privilege  we  deeply  ap- 
preciated. I  shall  never  forget  the  single  plant  of  per- 
fectly huge  dimensions,  successfully  growing  six  differ- 
ent varieties — all  exquisite  Chrysanthemums. 

Presently  we  were  directed  to  a  spacious  tent  where 
gold-laced  attaches  from  the  foreign  embassies  and  lega- 
tions, dainty  Japanese  ladies,  somber  Japanese,  Euro- 
pean and  American  gentlemen  and  a  few  of  our  own  sex 
and  kind  had  preceded  to  refresh  ourselves  with  tea, 
cakes,  sake  wine,  etc. 

Obviously  the  Emperor  and  Empress  were  not  pres- 
ent or  in  evidence.  They  never  appear  in  case  it  rains, 
for  they  simply  will  not  assume  the  risk  of  spoiling  their 
clothes — French  frocks  in  the  case  of  the  Empress  and 
her  ladies-in-waiting.  It  is  a  marvel,  not  understandable 
to  the  Western  mind,  why  these  ladies  insist  upon  wear- 
ing French  models  when  their  own  finery  not  only  be- 
comes them  better,  but  most  naturally  pleases  the  eye 
more. 

From  the  Garden  Party  we  betook  ourselves  to  the 
Russian  embassy  by  invitation,  to  hear  our  friend  and 
former  co-worker  in  the  American  Red  Cross,  Dr.  Ru- 
dolf Teusler,  give  an  illustrated  talk  on  Siberia.  In  spite 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  45 

of  the  fall  of  imperialistic  Russia,  its  embassies  and  lega- 
tions are  still  being  maintained  in  most  of  the  world's 
capitals.  The  Tokyo  embassy  and  Peking  legation  are 
financed,  I  understand,  by  the  indemnity  China  is  still 
paying  Russia,  on  account  of  the  Boxer  Rebellion. 

Mr.  Krupensky,  the  Russian  Ambassador  to  Japan, 
welcomed  us  most  cordially,  and  promptly  served  us 
Russian  tea  in  a  dainty  old  China  porcelain  cup.  His 
spacious  ballroom  was  arranged  for  the  entertainment 
to  which  we  had  been  bidden,  and  it  did  not  take  long 
to  fill  it  with  a  gathering  of  representative  Americans, 
British,  French,  Russians,  and  a  sprinkling  of  other  al- 
lied nations.  We  recognized  a  number  of  our  friends  who 
had  been  at  the  Imperial  Garden  Party. 

Dr.  Teusler  had  spent  practically  fifteen  months  in 
Siberia,  in  charge  of  the  vast  work  of  relief  undertaken 
by  the  American  Red  Cross.  He  directed  a  staff  of  over 
six  hundred  people,  associated  with  him  in  this  most 
difficult  of  all  war-relief  work,  and  he  had  the  handling 
of  over  fifteen  millions  of  dollars  during  that  time.  The 
severity  of  the  climate,  the  enormous  distances  to  be 
covered  (it  required  two  weeks  constant  railroad  travel 
with  his  special  train  to  move  between  the  extreme 
points  of  the  territory  assigned  to  him)  and  the  short- 
age, or  in  many  instances  the  non-existence  of  supplies 
and  talent,  made  the  undertaking  of  doing  the  number- 
less things  for  the  relief  of  the  sick  and  wounded  and  of 
the  needy  refugees,  a  task  from  which  the  ordinary  man 
or  woman  would  shrink  in  sheer  despair. 


46  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

The  dread  typhus  is  the  most  formidable  enemy  to 
fight,  particularly  when  the  facilities  for  caring  for  the 
patients  are  few,  far-between,  and  at  best  inadequate  in 
size,  equipment  or  in  medical  talent.  The  heart-breaking 
stories  of  the  starving  touched  hearts  of  stone,  if  there 
were  any  in  that  audience,  which  I  doubt.  Transporting 
wounded  and  the  sick,  piled  literally  like  cord  wood,  and 
on  arrival  sorting  the  living  from  the  dead — how  long 
dead  it  was  impossible  to  say.  He  told  of  the  brave  nur- 
ses, saints  indeed,  the  frail  little  beings  with  courage  and 
spirit  of  a  giant,  doing  heroic  things  each  hour  of  every 
busy  day,  until  we  all  felt  like  low-down  slackers.  Re- 
verting to  a  pleasanter  vein,  he  told  of  the  many 
young  girl  refugees,  ranging  between  fourteen  and 
eighteen  years  of  age,  who  apparently  missed  the  pretty 
things  of  life,  such  as  bits  of  lace  and  ribbon,  the  lack 
of  which  really  undermined  their  morals.  In  fact  they 
were  rapidly  reaching  the  point  of  not  caring  what 
would  happen  next!  In  some  cases  they  had  actually 
used  different  colored  papers  in  their  hair  to  satisfy  a 
girl's  natural  desire  to  look  as  pretty  as  possible.  The 
next  day  a  member  of  our  party  sent  a  quantity  of  rib- 
bon and  lace  to  the  Red  Cross  in  Siberia  that  these  girls 
might  gratify  their  womanly  traits,  indirectly  helping 
to  make  good  mothers  of  them  for  the  future  genera- 
tions. 

The  excitement  of  the  war  now  being  over,  the  Am- 
erican Red  Cross,  and  similar  relief  agencies,  find  it 
hard  to  maintain  enthusiasm  among  those  who  are  de- 


41 

pended  upon  as  workers.  It  is  all  too  manifest  that  we 
women  of  the  world,  having  given  up  our  feverish 
knitting  and  sewing,  do  not  realize  that  millions  of  hu- 
man souls  are  still  feeling  the  lack  of  warm  clothing  and 
the  other  blessed  comforts  heretofore  supplied  by  that 
biggest  Mother  of  them  all — the  Red  Cross.  What  a 
pity  this  has  come  to  pass,  for  we  were  nearer  the  spirit 
of  brotherly  love  than  at  any  time  since  the  world  be- 
gan. Every  woman  in  the  land  was  working  at  top  speed 
over  sweater,  sock,  or  other  garment,  to  clothe  the 
needy  and  unfortunate,  possessed  of  that  love  of  service 
in  her  heart  that  did  more  to  help  win  the  war  than 
any  other  living  force.  It  helped  spiritually  to  win  the 
battle  that  was  raging  between  right  and  wrong,  and 
it  was  fought  out  on  a  higher  plane  than  the  physical 
one,  the  final  outcome  of  the  latter  being  only  the  shad- 
ow of  the  great  issue  actually  involved. 

After  a  full  and  interesting  day  our  hotel  quarters 
seemed  very  "comfy"  and  our  good  warm  beds  a  joy. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XI 

r  I  ^HE  dear  "stay-at-homes"  did  not  disappoint,  for 
_L  letters,  lovely  letters,  arrived  in  the  last  mail. 
Some  were  written  while  we  still  lingered,  unintention- 
ally, on  U.  S.  soil,  but  nevertheless  these  were  tidings 
from  the  loved  ones  and,  after  all,  that  is  the  principal 
thing.  I  am  still  at  Miyanoshita  awaiting  the  return  of 
R.,  but  Biffy  has  just  arrived  and  reports  that  R.'s 
cold  was  such  that  he  sensibly  followed  medical  advice 
and  remained  in  Yokohama.  Needless  to  say  I  took  the 
first  train  back,  which  seemed  all  too  slow  in  arriving. 
Found  my  boy  ever  so  much  better  than  my  anxious 
state  of  mind  imagined,  and  again  convinced  myself 
that  one  worries  far  more  over  the  things  that  do  not 
happen  than  those  which  actually  occur.  The  Biffys 
were  so  good  and  kind  to  me,  trying  to  ease  my  distress 
and  heartache — bless  them  for  the  effort.  R.  will  be 
himself  again  in  a  few  days  time. 

Our  good  Yokohama  friends  hereabouts  have  quite 
turned  our  heads  with  their  lavish  attentions.  Every 
tiffin,  tea  and  dinner  spoken  for,  some  of  them  several 
times  over,  for  days  ahead,  and  if  we  do  not  soon  start 
on  our  trip  to  the  interior,  we  will  be  unfit  to  undertake 
it.  We  will  be  too  "soft,"  for  we  are  living  on  the  fat 
of  the  land — but  not  butter!  Nothing  seems  too  much 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  49 

trouble,  and  we  seem  constantly  to  be  in  the  minds  of 
our  good  friends.  It  gives  us  such  a  heart  throb. 

Here  is  a  little  international  incident.  R.'s  watch  met 
with  an  accident,  so  he  and  Billie  K.  looked  up  a  watch- 
maker. It  developed  that  an  old  Frenchman  was  the 
most  expert  repair  man  in  Yokohama,  but  he  spoke 
neither  English  nor  Japanese.  Billie  K.  and  my  hus- 
band complained  that  their  best  French  was  unintelli- 
gible to  the  watchmaker.  The  latter's  Japanese  wife 
was  called  into  the  conference,  so  she  translated  the 
watchmaker's  French  into  Japanese.  Billie  K.  trans- 
lated her  Japanese  into  English,  with  the  result  that 
the  Swiss  watch,  owned  by  an  American,  was  repaired 
by  a  Frenchman  who  received  his  orders  through  a 
Japanese.  Cost  of  the  job  twelve  and  one-half  cents  in 
U.  S.  money.  Let  us  hope  the  watch  will  now  keep  good 
time  in  any  language. 

This  particular  November  morning  we  were  awak- 
ened by  the  violent  rain  whipping  against  our  window 
panes  with  the  force  of  terrific  hail.  The  ships  in  Mis- 
sissippi Bay  (Yokohama)  looked  like  phantom  ships, 
they  seemed  so  lost  in  the  mist  and  rain,  blowing  in  in 
mighty  gusts  from  the  ocean.  Our  rooms — oh,  they 
were  as  damp  and  cold  as  ice  boxes !  R.  and  I  had  heavy 
colds  and  had  coughed  most  of  the  night.  Life  was  not 
at  high  tide  of  happiness,  and  I  was  reminded  of  the 
day  on  the  Mediterranean  when  my  stewardess  im- 
patiently remarked:  "Why  people  with  good  homes 
ever  leave  them,  is  more  than  I  can  understand."  The 


SO  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

thought  of  balmy  climes  was  uppermost  in  my  mind,  so 
when  Frances  and  I  indulged  in  day-dreams  of  travel- 
ing southwards,  and  spoke  of  India  as  our  goal  (having 
before  us  always  the  desire  to  go  where  it  was  cuddly 
warm)  our  considerate  husbands  not  only  failed  to 
offer  a  single  objection,  but  heartily  chimed  in  in  their 
readiness  to  start  off  as  soon  as  a  ship  could  be  had  to 
carry  us — no  simple  thing  in  these  days  of  heavy  travel, 
very  few  and  mostly  small  steamers.  Captain  Watson 
of  the  U.  S.  Embassy  dropped  in  for  tiffin,  and  gave 
things  a  big  push,  and  added  fuel  to  the  excited  flame 
by  arranging  all  our  passport  formalities  for  us,  and 
adding  that  friends  of  his  were  sailing  for  India  the 
following  week,  and  space  on  the  same  ship  was  doubt- 
less still  obtainable.  Then  we  all  talked  at  once  and 
each  added  a  feature  to  our  program,  so  in  short  order 
we  had  determined  to  make  a  complete  circuit  of  the 
globe,  necessitating  our  skimming  over  Japan  and 
barely  touching  a  port  or  two  in  China — all  in  our 
eagerness  to  get  to  the  tropics  in  general,  to  India  dur- 
ing the  season  in  particular. 

Thank  goodness,  the  hotel  people  contrived  to  put  on 
more  steam  a  few  hours  later,  and  life  not  only  looked 
different  to  us,  but  there  was  not  that  overwhelming  de- 
sire to  go  to  India  for  the  purpose  of  getting  warm.  To- 
night, therefore,  we  are  actually  fatigued  from  our  elab- 
orate and  wearisome  planning  of  this  "hot-air"  trip,  and 
we  have  settled  down  very  obediently  to  our  first  and 
original  plan  of  visiting  Korea  and  China  after  seeing 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  51 

Japan.  R.  and  I  return  to  the  U.  S.  A.  the  latter  part  of 
January,  the  Biffys  probably  going  on  around  the 
world. 

We  have  been  beautifully  entertained  by  our  good 
Yokohama  friends,  and  their  kindness  to  us  will  ever  be 
remembered.  While  we  were  victims  of  bad  colds,  May 
and  Billie  K.  offered  us  the  use  of  their  attractive  home 
and  own  private  apartments,  an  offer  we  of  course 
promptly  declined  but  none  the  less  greatly  prized,  as 
we  know  it  would  have  meant  their  occupying  small 
rooms  in  the  rear.  About  the  same  time  in  walked  Cap- 
tain Watson  with  word  from  Mrs.  Watson  to  bring  us 
bag  and  baggage  to  their  home  in  Tokyo.  Southern  hos- 
pitality certainly  has  its  equal  with  the  Americans  we 
know  in  Japan.  We  are  the  proud  owners  of  an  oil 
stove,  which  has  converted  my  blue  thoughts  into  bright 
sunny  vision.  Just  that  little  added  warmth  did  the 
trick,  and  life  again  seems  quite  worth  while.  Before  that, 
with  the  rain  splashing  fiercely,  our  rooms  damp  and 
cold,  both  R.  and  I  afflicted  with  hard  colds,  we  are  not 
to  be  be  blamed  for  sending  an  S.  O.  S.  across  the  street 
to  our  friends  the  Billie  K.'s,  in  response  to  which  he 
appeared  with  an  oil  stove,  his  capable  servant  softly 
gliding  in  after  him  with  a  supply  of  Standard  Oil's 
best.  We  were  like  children,  what  with  our  finger  tips 
getting  back  to  normal  warmth  again,  making  the 
world  over  for  us.  So  we  got  our  tea  basket,  called  in 
the  Biffys,  and  with  Billie  K.  we  comprised  a  jolly  after- 
noon tea  party,  Chiyo,  my  little  Japanese  maid,  mak- 


52  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

ing  the  tea  and  serving  it  beautifully,  looking  the  part 
at  every  turn  of  her  head.  I  wonder  if  everyone  knows 
what  a  difference  a  good  cup  of  tea  makes  in  one's 
point  of  view  ? 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  53 


CHAPTER  XII 

OUR  night  in  room  31,  Oriental  Palace  Hotel,  Yoko- 
hama, facing  the  Bund,  was  a  lively  one.  Never 
have  I  known  such  wind!  Our  bedroom  with  its  tiny 
sitting-room  faces  east,  and  looks  out  upon  the  sea.  It 
is  like  the  crow's  nest  on  the  masthead  of  a  steamer, 
receiving  the  full  force  of  the  storm,  the  gale  blowing 
in  one  long  glass  window  after  another,  all  the  while 
howling  through  our  quarters,  making  sleep  impossible. 
No  sooner  do  we  return  to  our  beds  from  having  secured 
one  blown-open  window,  than  it  requires  our  combined 
efforts  and  strength  to  close  another,  and  similarly  we 
repeat  this  operation  innumerable  times.  Our  Christ- 
mas cards  had  been  addressed  and  were  ready  for  mail- 
ing by  the  next  steamer.  The  wind  played  havoc  with 
them,  scattering  them  indiscriminately  and  broadcast, 
until  our  floors  resembled  a  country  road  after  a  speed- 
ing motorist  had  run  over  a  flock  of  white  leghorns, 
leaving  the  air  and  surface  completely  filled  with  white 
particles.  I  am  quite  sure  some  of  the  cards  went  out  of 
the  window,  preferring  to  take  the  air  route  to  America, 
so  if  any  of  our  dear  playmates  are  "shy"  a  card,  charge 
it  up  to  the  tempest  that  struck  the  Japan  coast  the  last 
of  November,  1919. 

We  were  awakened  first  by  what  we  deemed  to  be  a 


54  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

boat  in  distress  and  it  sounded  like  a  siren  horn.  It 
sounded  exactly  as  though  it  originated  almost  be- 
neath our  windows,  for  you  must  know  that  we  are 
near  enough  to  the  sea's  edge  to  enable  us  to  throw  a 
biscuit  into  the  briny  deep  from  our  windows.  We  were 
relieved  to  find  that  our  large  windows  had  blown  open 
and  the  howling  wind,  penetrating  every  opening,  was 
pitched  in  so  shrill  and  high  a  key,  that  it  resembled 
for  all  the  world  a  signal  of  distress. 

We  longed  for  morning  and  daylight,  to  see  that  the 
many  ships  in  the  harbor  were  safe.  The  sea  was  giving 
out  a  mighty  roar.  We  could  catch  the  flashes  of  the 
shore  and  harbor  lighthouses.  I  found  myself  sending 
up  a  silent  prayer  that  the  lenses  were  bright  and  clean, 
so  that  the  light  would  guide  the  mariner  in  steering  his 
craft  safely  into  port.  The  break  of  dawn  came  all  too 
slowly,  but  we  were  at  our  windows,  eagerly  straining 
our  eyes.  The  harbor  was  filled  with  ships,  many  doubt- 
less having  sought  refuge  during  the  night,  both  big 
and  little  ones.  One  large  ship  had  dragged  her  anchor 
and  caused  a  bad  mixup  with  other  vessels,  but  the  dis- 
entangling process  was  on,  and  in  due  time  things  read- 
justed themselves  and  all  was  safe  and  quiet  again. 

The  BifFys  have  been  prevailed  upon  not  to  wait  for 
us,  victims  of  colds,  but  to  start  on  the  planned  tour  of 
"real"  Japan,  so  they  are  off  this  morning  for  Kyoto, 
where  we  have  promised  to  overtake  them  in  due  time. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  55 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THANKSGIVING  DAY,  1919.  It  is  hard  to  realize 
that  this  is  one  of  our  national  holidays,  for  of 
course  Japan  does  not  observe  it.  Business  as  usual,  all 
shops  open  and  only  a  few  Americans  walking  home  from 
church,  apparently  dressed  in  their  "Sunday-go-to- 
meetings,"  convey  the  smallest  idea  to  us  of  the  holi- 
day. The  U.  S.  Embassy  at  Tokyo  was  "at  home"  to- 
day— for  all  U.  S.  citizens,  but  we  are  still  indisposed 
with  colds,  so  could  not  pay  our  respects  as  we  would 
have  liked  to  do.  Instead,  we  inflicted  ourselves  upon 
the  Billie  K.'s  for  tea,  and  were  urged  to  remain  for 
Thanksgiving  dinner,  which  we  reluctantly  declined. 
The  K.  roof  is  more  than  hospitable.  We  are  across-the- 
street  neighbors,  our  respective  windows  being  sepa- 
rated only  by  the  width  of  a  narrow  street.  When  the 
K.'s  door  bell  rings,  we  rush  to  see  who  is  calling.  On 
their  side,  they  can  keep  an  eye  on  our  doings.  Their 
home  is  a  square  old  stone  building  that  comprised 
Billie  K.'s  office  and  lodgings  in  his  bachelor  days,  some 
years  ago.  The  present  home  is  beautifully  arranged, 
having  big  rooms,  few  in  number,  tastefully  filled  with 
art  treasures  from  Japan  and  China.  Practically  every- 
thing is  an  object  worthy  of  a  museum.  The  cheery  open 
fireplaces,  May's  attractive  tea  tray  from  which  she 


56  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

serves  you  most  delicious  tea,  either  a  la  European  or  a 
la  Japanese,  in  those  exquisite  white  porcelain  cups 
(without  handles)  resting  on  silver  lotus  leaves,  make 
an  impression  that  is  pleasantly  stored  up  in  our  mem- 
ory. Cakes,  perfectly  wonderful  cakes,  as  only  her  na- 
tive cook  can  bake  them,  are  world-renowned,  and 
everyone  that  comes  to  Japan  that  is  anyone  is  so  for- 
tunate as  to  have  tea,  tiffin  or  dinner  with  this  attrac- 
tive couple. 

We  talk  long  over  our  cups  before  a  glowing  fire,  par- 
ticularly of  the  many  lovely  things  for  which  Japan  is 
famed.  Our  host  may  disappear  to  visit  his  "go-down" 
or  storehouse,  only  to  return  shortly  with  some  espe- 
cially attractive  piece  of  ware,  a  marvelous  print,  a 
precious  bronze,  or  a  remarkable  specimen  of  brocade, 
etc.,  to  help  round  out  his  point  in  the  conversation  we 
have  purposely  brought  around  to  the  subject  of  Jap- 
anese art.  It  is  so  worth  while  and  instructive  to  visit 
with  the  Billie  K's. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  57 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WE  DEEM  this  a  red-letter  day,  for  we  experienced 
our  first  formal  ceremonial  tea  given  us  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Yamanaka,  of  Kyoto,  a  very  great  privilege 
to  have  been  so  favored,  we  think.  Dressed  in  our  very 
best,  we  were  conveyed  by  rickshaws  to  the  gate  of  the 
Yamanaka  home.  As  we  walked  through  the  wonderful 
garden,  the  host  came  to  the  entrance  of  his  attractive 
home  to  greet  us.  Servants  removed  our  shoes  and  sub- 
stituted them  with  the  soft  temple  slippers  our  guide, 
Akiyama,  had  previously  tucked  into  our  rickshaws. 
We  entered  a  lovely  reception  room,  with  its  soft  cush- 
ioned matted  floor,  neither  chairs  nor  tables  being  in 
evidence,  as  a  matter  of  course.  These  small,  low-ceil- 
ing rooms  make  us  foreigners  feel  like  Gulliver  coming 
to  call  on  midgets.  We  had  to  bend  our  heads  while 
passing  through  doorways,  and  the  ceiling  sills  allowed 
none  too  much  space  above.  It  was  a  matter  of  watch- 
ing your  step,  particularly  in  our  case,  walking  in  soft 
woolen  slippers.  I  was  reminded  of  my  childhood  days — 
walking  over  a  bed  while  engaged  in  a  pillow  fight.  We 
seemed  fairly  to  sink  into  the  lovely  padded  floor  cover- 
ings. 

Our  host,  a  genial  Japanese  gentleman  who  speaks 
English  fluently,  seemed  pleased  to  have  us  admire  his 


5<?  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

perfect  home  and  garden.  First,  we  were  ushered  into  a 
square  room  having  a  dark  blue  cloth  over  the  matting. 
Cushions  of  brown  and  gold  were  provided  for  each  of 
us  on  which  to  seat  ourselves,  arm-rest  tables  being  at 
hand  if  wanted.  In  the  center  were  two  adorable  bronze 
braziers  with  silver  poker  to  rearrange  the  charcoal  fire. 
The  ever-present  kakomono,  a  beautifully  painted 
scroll,  hung  in  a  niche  of  the  room,  and  custom  has  it 
that  the  guest  of  honor  must  be  placed  near  it.  Present- 
ly a  sliding  door  was  opened  and  a  man  servant,  bow- 
ing by  touching  his  forehead  to  the  floor,  brought  small 
cups  of  porcelain  containing  rice  and  barley.  We  sipped 
this  slowly  whilst  marveling  just  how  long  we  could 
keep  in  this  uncomfortable  position  in  which  we  were 
sitting,  mentally  feeling  sorry  for  the  Buddhas  that 
have  been  sitting  for  hundreds  of  years — no  wonder 
they  have  turned  to  wood,  stone  or  bronze.  By  this  time 
all  sense  of  feeling  from  the  waist  down  had  gone,  but 
we  were  thankful  that  we  could  still  smile  and  bow  from 
the  waist  up,  mentally  speculating  all  the  while  whether, 
when  the  time  to  move  arrives,  our  limbs  will  be  in 
working  order.  In  due  time  we  undertake  to  rise,  feeling 
very  much  like  a  camel  looks,  as  we  get  up  in  sections. 
A  fairy-like  slide  of  one  of  the  wall  partitions  and  our 
hostess  was  before  us,  bowing  low  andgracefully,bidding 
us  welcome  and  suggesting  that  we  accompany  her  to 
the  piece  de  resistance — the  ceremonial  tea  room.  To 
conduct  this  tea  ceremonial  as  Mrs.  Yamanaka  did,  in- 
volves long  and  concentrated  study.  The  fire  is  laid 


TSSEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  59 

with  two  kinds  of  charcoal,  white  and  black,  large  and 
small  pieces  respectively.  A  kettle — very  unlike  the 
kind  we  know,  being  without  a  spout — made  of  wrought 
copper  and  having  a  removable  handle — containing  the 
water  that  has  been  boiling  for  some  hours  is  now  placed 
upon  the  charcoal  fire.  The  hostess  has  a  bright  red 
cloth  in  her  obi,  which  she  unfolds  with  much  care  and 
uses  for  handling  the  kettle,  refolding  said  cloth  and 
tucking  it  again  into  her  obi  with  much  ceremony,  after 
use.  A  lovely  peacock  feather  serves  for  brushing  up 
any  particles  that  might  fall  from  the  charcoal  basket. 
Two  lacquer  bowls,  one  black,  the  other  black  and  gray, 
are  used  for  serving  the  tea.  The  tea  is  brewed  from  a 
powdered  form  having  a  light  green  color.  It  is  essential 
that  it  shall  have  been  ground  by  a  maiden  of  about 
fourteen  years,  who  uses  a  couple  of  stones  for  the  grind- 
ing. It  is  argued  that  a  lassie  of  these  years  is  pretty  apt 
to  dream  a  lot  while  at  her  work,  and  slow,  gradual 
grinding  is  to  be  preferred,  as  it  insures  retaining  the  es- 
sence or  flavor,  as  compared  to  having  this  performed 
by  the  stronger  hands  of  a  boy  or  man.  A  bamboo  dip- 
per is  placed  into  the  boiling  water  and  the  latter  poured 
into  the  lacquer  bowls  referred  to,  for  testing  the  same. 
Two  tiny  spoonfuls  of  tea  are  next  placed  in  a  bowl  and 
boiling  water  poured  on.  This  is  then  whipped  up  with 
a  dainty  bamboo  stick  and  handed  to  the  guest  next  to 
the  hostess.  Upon  drinking,  the  bowl  is  returned,  re- 
filled and  passed  to  the  next  guest,  and  so  on  until  all 
have  partaken. 


60  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

The  tea  served  on  these  occasions  is  nothing  like  the 
tea  we  know  as  that  beverage.  It  resembles  a  thick  green 
split  pea  soup  more  than  anything  else  I  can  think  of, 
and  has  a  taste — not  of  tea  in  the  remotest  degree — but 
of  some  green  fresh  vegetable,  served  without  much 
cooking  and  innocent  of  seasoning.  It  was  just  possible 
to  swallow  it  and  that  was  all — but  this  you  must  posi- 
tively do,  and  preferably  with  many  bows  and  lavish 
expressions  of  delight,  regardless  of  the  sensations  you 
may  experience  inwardly.  Holding  the  lovely  bowl  in 
both  hands  on  a  line  with  your  eyes,  the  assembled 
guests  with  host  and  hostess  are  at  attention,  all  con- 
versation ceases,  and  as  you  sip  you  are  being  intently 
observed  as  you  revel  in  the  honor  of  partaking  of  this 
cherished  ceremonial  tea,  particularly  if  it  is  known  to 
those  present  that  this  is  your  first. 

We  were  all  Dignity  personified,  much  awed  by  the 
solemn  ceremony  that  we  were  witnessing,  when  sud- 
denly Biffy  leaned  too  far  back  on  his  cushion  and 
tumbled  over  backwards,  nearly  going  through  the 
fragile  wall  and  putting  the  whole  affair  out  of  business. 
Our  soberness  was  changed  to  shouts  of  laughter,  and 
I  accused  our  friend  of  having  deliberately  contrived  "to 
start"  the  party. 

We  drank  our  tea  with  many  bows  and  compliments, 
adhered  to  the  custom  of  taking  two  puffs  from  the 
tiny  pipe  that  comprises  a  part  of  the  invariable  smok- 
ing set  that  always  adorns  these  occasions,  and  then 
handing  the  pipe  to  the  next  guest,  we  soon  decided 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  61 

it  to  be  time  to  unfold  our  weary  bones  once  more,  and 
again  make  our  formal  acknowledgments  and  be  off. 

But  our  host  and  hostess  begged  us  to  repair  to  still 
another  room  for  a  bit  of  food.  This  was  the  largest 
apartment  of  this  home.  Again  we  made  ourselves  "com- 
fortable" on  cushion  and  floor.  A  huge  and  wonderful 
lacquer  tray  with  a  covered  red  bowl,  a  covered  box, 
also  lacquer,  and  a  beautiful  porcelain  sake  bottle,  oc- 
cupied the  centre  of  the  room.  Soup  with  meat  balls 
and  egg  cakes  floating  about  was  served  first,  and  a 
combination  of  sipping  from  the  bowl,  and  fishing  for 
the  substantial  contents  with  chopsticks,  was  necessary 
to  partake  of  this  course.  Curiosity  prompted  us  to  open 
the  lacquer  box  in  which  we  found  the  contents  as 
easily  yielding  to  the  manipulations  of  amateur  chop- 
stick  users — delicate  rice  cakes  covered  with  peanut 
powder;  boiled  chestnuts,  hard  boiled  eggs,  quartered; 
chopped  liver  cakes,  and  a  tomato.  Sake,  the  rice-wine, 
is  freely  served  and  toasts  are  drank  all  round.  This 
wine,  by  the  way,  is  most  palatable  when  hot,  and  in  the 
present  instance  it  was  contained  in  a  silver  kettle.  It 
might  be  mentioned  here  that  the  Emperor  of  Japan  ob- 
serves what  might  be  termed  a  semi-religious  ceremony 
in  regard  to  the  distilling  of  sake,  one  of  Japan's  impor- 
tant Shinto  temples  being  used  for  that  purpose  an- 
nually. In  addition  to  this,  His  Majesty  has  two  fields 
of  rice  grown  for  him,  located  in  widely  different  parts 
of  his  empire.  Should  the  crop  fail  in  one,  he  can  depend 
upon  the  other  most  likely. 


62  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

But  let  us  return  to  the  ceremonial  tea  aftermath, 
the  unexpected  dinner.  Custom  does  not  require  that  we 
shall  dispose  of  all  set  before  us  in  this  case,  so  we  soon 
taper  off  and  cigarettes  are  the  signal  for  the  approach- 
ing conclusion  of  the  feast.  To  our  amazement,  we  have 
spent  three  hours  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  these 
dainty,  friendly  people,  and  now  the  host  and  hostess 
accompany  us  to  the  door  where  their  servants  have  our 
foot-gear  in  readiness  so  that  we  can  be  properly  shod 
to  have  a  final  glimpse  of  their  heavenly  garden.  The 
new  moon  was  just  coming  up  over  the  mountain,  a 
temple  bell  was  ringing  in  a  sleepy  manner  at  some  near- 
by Shinto  shrine,  and  peace  seemed  to  fill  our  souls. 
Our  rickshaw  boys  brought  us  through  a  lane  of  red 
maples  that  showed  against  the  afterglow  in  the  western 
sky,  while  the  pine  needles  all  seemed  to  be  wishing  us  a 
happy  good  night.  As  I  close  my  window  to  sit  down  to 
write  my  day's  impressions,  I  see  far  up  on  sacred 
Yama  a  flickering  temple  light.  These  little  people  are 
truly  interesting  and  have  many  sides  to  know  and  ad- 
mire. Yes,  they  are  surely  getting  into  my  heart,  for  I 
an  beginning  to  understand  them  more.  They  are  so 
simple  and  child-like. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  63 


CHAPTER  XV 

TODAY  we  are  to  have  a  further  glimpse  of  typical 
native  life,  as  we  have  accepted  an  invitation  to 
visit  the  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hirai.  Mr.  H.  is  the  lo- 
cal (Kyoto)  street  car  magnate.  We  are  glad  of  the  op- 
portunity of  having  tea  there,  for  this  home  and  its 
grounds  are  deemed  a  fine  specimen  of  Japanese  art  in 
those  things.  Madame  Hirai  greeted  us,  regretting  that 
her  husband  was  suddenly  called  away,  but  expecting 
to  join  us  later.  So  Madame  H.  did  the  honors  beauti- 
fully, informing  us  through  our  interpreter,  that  we 
were  the  first  foreign  ladies  that  had  ever  been  in  her 
home.  You  can  imagine  the  excitement  we  caused,  par- 
ticularly among  the  maids  and  other  servants.  They 
made  no  effort,  seemingly,  to  conceal  their  amusement, 
especially  when  we  went  through  the  formality  of  sitting 
down,  or  trying  to, — with  our  legs  and  feet  awkwardly 
projecting, —  for  it  is  quite  impossible  to  easily  acquire 
the  faculty  of  sitting  on  one's  heels,  as  they  do.  Thought- 
fully, our  charming  hostess  had  chairs  for  us,  looking 
woefully  out  of  place  in  those  diminutive  apartments. 
Also  she  had  provided  both  tea  and  coffee,  a  la  European 
or  American.  These  and  likewise  the  chairs  we  declined 
with  many  thanks,  for  we  truly  like  their  native  customs 
and  enjoy  making  the  effort  to  conform  to  them.  It  was 


64  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

most  considerate  and  thoughtful  of  our  hostess  to  have 
wished  to  have  put  us  at  ease,  but  none-the-less  I  think 
she  was  pleased  to  have  us  express  a  preference  for  her 
things  Japanese. 

The  house  is  of  course  lovely,  but  not  to  our  way  of 
thinking,  at  least,  what  you  call  homelike.  Each  room 
is  measured  according  to  the  number  of  standard  size 
mats  it  contains,  three,  four,  five,  etc.  A  ceremonial  tea 
room,  for  example,  must  contain  a  certain  number  of 
mats,  so  that  the  floor  length  and  width,  and  the  ceil- 
ing height  will  give  a  cube  measurement  divisible  by  the 
mystic  multiple  of  nine.  For  instance,  a  room  six  feet 
square  and  six  feet  high  gives  a  cubical  content  of  216 
feet  which,  divided  by  nine,  gives  twenty-four  times. 

The  room  in  which  we  were  received  was  a  six  mat 
room,  conspicuously  unadorned,  except  for  the  kako- 
mona  hanging  in  the  niche,  below  which  stood  a  small 
table  with  three  inch  legs,  holding  an  incense  burner,  to 
which  should  be  added  a  bamboo  vase  with  pine  branch 
and  palm  leaves — this  latter  in  our  honor,  signifying 
welcome,  longevity  and  prosperity,  in  the  language  of 
their  flowers.  All  doors  and  windows  are  of  sliding  type, 
made  up  of  three  inch  square  panels.  The  ceilings  are  of 
plaited  reeds,  beautifully  designed.  The  tea  cups,  con- 
sisting of  lovely  white  porcelain,  rested  on  silver  boat 
shaped  saucers.  Cakes  were  served  to  be  eaten  with  the 
use  of  sharpened  point  sticks.  The  tea  was  exceedingly 
weak,  and  to  our  minds,  tasteless. 

In  our  stocking  feet  we  walked  through  the  many 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  65 

rooms,  admiring  the  screens  and  decorated  floors,  the 
work  of  artists.  Our  five  cushions  were  the  only  articles 
of  furniture  in  the  room  where  we  had  tea,  and  one  is 
struck  with  the  immaculate  neatness  and  cleanliness  of 
it  all — but  who  could  not  be  neat  and  clean  in  the  home 
that  contained  neither  coal  scuttle,  sewing  machine,  vic- 
trola  and  other  contraptions  so  essential  to  our  Western 
civilization  ? 

We  felt  more  at  home  in  the  garden  which  was  truly 
wonderful,  with  its  cascades,  its  pretty  ponds  alive  with 
goldfish,  its  winding  paths,  containing  several  tea 
houses  encountered  at  the  most  unexpected  places,  and 
the  general  picturesque  arrangement;  all  suggesting  ar- 
tistic skill  in  utilizing  space  and  helping  nature;  for  it 
must  be  remembered  we  were  in  the  heart  of  a  big  city, 
although  it  was  difficult  to  realize  that  fact,  as  we  wan- 
dered along  the  pretty  paths,  or  watched  the  sun  play- 
ing upon  the  waters,  or  admired  the  shadows  as  they 
fell  upon  the  adjacent  mountains. 

Our  tea  party  in  the  Hirai  home  and  lovely  garden  is 
over,  and  as  Madame  H.  accompanies  us  to  our  waiting 
rickshaws,  parked  in  the  narrow  lane-like  street  just 
outside  the  walled  garden,  our  path  leads  along  a  wind- 
ing picturesque  walk  that  crosses  tiny  lacquer  bridges 
over  clear  swift-running  streams,  in  which  fat  and  over- 
fed goldfish  lazily  swim  along,  so  pompous  and  lordly 
in  their  assurance  and  dignity,  causing  the  finny  young- 
sters to  scurry  as  the  former  give  a  violent  flap  of  his 
tail  as  he  approaches.  Characteristic  of  Japan,  age  is 


66  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

respected  in  all  walks  of  human  life,  so  why  not  in 
animal  life — hence  the  deference  shown  by  baby  gold- 
fish for  his  more  patriarchal  member  of  the  specie. 

As  we  reached  the  carved  moon  gate,  appropriately 
placed  in  the  huge  wall,  Madame  H.  placed  her  tiny 
hands  upon  her  knees,  and  with  bowed  head  and  a 
graceful  bend  of  her  diminutive  back,  wished  us  goodby 
and  a  long  life  of  happiness. 

Soon  we  were  in  a  maze  of  narrow,  twisting  and 
crowded  streets,  with  shouting  rickshaw  boys  con- 
tinually having  what  appeared  to  us  as  barely  averted 
escapes  from  collision  with  other  vehicles  on  the  one 
hand,  or  from  effecting  precipitous  entrances  into  the 
tiny  stalls  or  bazaars  on  the  other — never  ending  shops 
containing  varied  articles  from  huge  bronzes  to  wooden 
tooth  picks,  all  displayed  so  prospective  purchasers  can 
be  properly  tempted.  Red  cheeked  fat  urchins,  from 
babyhood  up,  were  looking  on  with  solid,  broad  nerve- 
less faces,  their  tiny,  wonderfully  formed  hands  being 
far  more  expressive  than  their  faces.  Remarking  upon 
the  shapeliness  of  the  hands  of  the  average  native,  I 
once  heard  a  Japanese  gentleman  say:  "And  why  not 
beautiful?  Are  they  not  taught  from  childhood  to  handle 
chopsticks?  On  second  thought,  I  pictured  my  own 
clumsy  efforts  with  these  fiendish  implements,  a  bit  of 
rice  poised  half  way  between  the  bowl  and  my  mouth, 
only  to  have  it  fall  back  again  with  a  splashing  thud, 
my  chopsticks  meanwhile  having  assumed  every  angle 
but  the  proper  one,  in  my  untrained,  awkward  fingers. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  67 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ONE  evening  our  stay  in  Kyoto  included  attendance 
at  a  dinner  to  be  accompanied  by  music  and  danc- 
ing by  geisha  girls,  and  arranged  for  us  at  one  of  Japan's 
nicest  tea  houses.  Our  courier  suggested  my  wearing  as 
many  jewels  as  possible,  as  the  geisha  girls  are  im- 
pressed and  amused  by  a  lavish  display  of  finery  of  that 
character.  Accordingly  eight  geisha  girls  awaited  us  when 
we  were  shown  into  our  tea-house  dining-room,  again 
with  shoeless  feet  and  condemned  once  more  to  sit  upon 
cushions  for  a  number  of  hours  at  a  stretch — and  with- 
out a  stretch.  The  most  talented  songbird  in  Japan  was 
on  hand  to  entertain  us.  But  oh  dear!  after  sitting 
cross-legged  for  two  to  three  hours  hearing  this  fine 
singer  sing  (?)  you  begin  to  wonder  if  the  construction 
of  music  in  the  Eastern  and  Western  minds  can  ever  be 
made  to  harmonize.  The  question  arises,  which  system 
deserves  the  name  of  music?  I  tried  so  hard  to  get  the 
rhythm  but  failed,  as  no  two  bars  seemingly  count  the 
same.  This  artiste  certainly  possessed  a  remarkable 
variety  of  grunts  and  squeaks,  with  halftones  in  gurgles 
and  gargles  combined,  while  she  could  with  facility  drop 
from  a  high  pitch  to  a  low  one,  and  come  to  a  sudden, 
abrupt  end  that  proved  startling  in  the  extreme.  I  was  a 
perfect  lady  through  it  all  until  Mrs.  Biffy  leaned  over  to 


68  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

whisper:  "Do  you  think  she  is  going  to  be  seasick  in 
this  little  room?"  which  nearly  proved  my  undoing.  I  sup- 
pressed my  laughter  as  well  as  I  could,  but  the  tears  in- 
sisted upon  rolling  down  my  cheeks,  my  only  hope  now 
being  that  the  song  happened  to  be  a  sad  one,  and  my 
emotions  therefore  perfectly  proper. 

The  geisha  dances  were  lovely  and  more  understand- 
able. We  particularly  enjoyed  those  rendered  by  three 
little  eleven  year  old  girls,  having  thin,  white-chalked 
faces,  cherry  painted  lips,  who  seemed  anything  but 
childlike,  as  you  would  expect  of  little  lassies  of 
this  tender  age.  It  is  all  part  of  the  game,  and  to 
come  to  Japan  and  not  see  a  Geisha  dance  is  simply 
unthinkable. 

Before  leaving,  R.  and  I  danced  a  one-step  for  them 
in  our  stocking  feet  and  later  R.  tried  dancing  with  one 
of  the  little  geishas  which  caused  much  merriment  to  her 
sister  geishas  and  the  other  onlookers.  Whilst  the  per- 
formance was  going  on  our  dinner  was  being  served  to 
us — on  the  floor,  as  a  matter  of  course  and  custom.  We 
started  with  tea  and  finished  with  tea  and  rice  with 
numerous  courses  of  soup,  fish,  meat,  etc.  We  had  three 
kinds  of  soup,  I  recall,  and  before  we  reached  the  final 
course,  we  had  become  quite  expert  with  our  chop- 
sticks. 

R.  and  Biffy  after  a  few  hours  of  cramped  position 
were  forced  to  rise  and  re-seat  themselves  on  the  arm 
rests,  to  the  amusement  of  the  geishas  and  tea-house  at- 
tendants. Frances  and  I  had  better  Japanese  manners, 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  69 

notwithstanding  our  feeling  like  veritable  mummies  just 
recently  unearthed — ossified  from  the  waist  down.  We 
had  faithfully  sat  flat  upon  the  floor  during  those  hours 
of  the  evening's  entertainment. 


70  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XVII 

r  I  ^HE  next  morning  found  us  off  bright  and  early, 
_L  bound  for  a  trip  down  the  Rapids.  On  our  way  out 
of  Kyoto,  however,  we  motored  to  the  Katsura  or  Sum- 
mer Palace,  which  contains  what  is  deemed  the  best  and 
finest  of  Japanese  gardens.  We  found  it  most  attractive 
and  deserving  of  a  visit. 

Later,  embarking  in  a  big  river  row-boat,  propelled 
by  three  men,  we  experienced  a  charming  two  hour  run 
down  the  river,  frequently  shooting  the  rapids  and  giv- 
ing us  that  peculiar  thrill  that  comes  with  the  facing  of 
supposed  danger,  and  which  is  all  the  pleasanter  when 
you  know  that  it  is  a  perfectly  safe  thing  to  do,  as  others 
before  you  have  accomplished  it  with  success  hundreds 
of  times.  The  water  was  low,  the  mountains  high,  the 
foliage  a  brilliant  red,  the  sky  was  blue,  and  our  little 
party  was  indeed  glad  to  be  alive  and  among  such  pic- 
turesque and  highly  pleasant  surroundings. 

In  due  course  we  reached  Arashiyama,  and  a  tiny  tea 
house  perched  up  on  a  high  bluff  overlooking  the  river 
that  we  had  so  skillfully  navigated.  Our  prepared  tiffin 
was  soon  served,  and  rarely  have  we  had  a  more  de- 
lightful experience.  Picture-like,  our  little  house  com- 
manded a  magnificent  view,  peeping  out  of  a  clump  of 
trees  and  looking  out  upon  the  opposite  high  river  bank 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  77 

with  its  red  and  yellow  maples,  while  below  we  could 
watch  the  river  with  its  many  wonderful  reflections  and 
colors.  It  suggested  a  bit  of  the  stage. 

On  our  return  to  Kyoto  —  again  by  motor  —  we 
stopped  in  a  bamboo  forest  to  look  at  a  home  the  BifFys 
think  of  leasing  in  order  to  kill  time  while  awaiting  the 
cherry  blossom  season. 

Nara  is  only  an  hour's  ride  from  Kyoto  by  rail,  so 
one  day  we  betook  ourselves  there.  Here  is  the  temple 
containing  Japan's  largest  Buddha,  a  wonderful  thing 
in  bronze.  The  sacred  horse  is  also  to  be  found  here  (as 
is  the  case  in  other  elaborate  Buddhist  temple  com- 
munities). In  this  case  the  object  of  worship  is  a  dear 
little  white  horse  with  light  blue  eyes.  As  soon  as  you 
approach,  he  gives  an  appealing  neigh,  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  priest  offers  you  a  bowl  of  grain  for  which 
you  pay  him  a  small  gratuity  and  then  feed  the  grain 
to  the  pony,  thus  helping  his  body,  feeding  your  own 
soul  and  maintaining  the  priest. 

We  did  a  few  other  interesting  things  in  peaceful  Nara 
and  then  again  took  a  train,  this  time  for  Yamada,  six 
hours  away.  Our  arrival  at  this  little  town  of  Yamada 
took  place  in  darkness,  relieved  by  the  elaborate  illumi- 
nation just  outside  the  railway  station  of  hundreds  of 
Japanese  lanterns,  held  by  the  hotel  porters  represent- 
ing the  countless  inns  and  hotels  that  provide  accommo- 
dations for  the  thousands  of  pilgrims  who  find  their  way 
to  this  Mecca  of  Japan.  I  was  informed  that  not  less 
than  two  million  people  pass  in  and  out  of  this  station 


-j2  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

every  year,  visitors  to  the  shrine  of  Kotai  Jungu,  the 
most  sacred  temple  in  all  Japan. 

A  bright  moon  was  visible  as  we  got  into  our  rick- 
shaws amidst  the  clamorous  jabbering  of  dozens  of  rick- 
shaw men,  all  competing  for  our  trade,  and  confusing 
their  prospective  customers  with  their  violent  gestures 
and  innocent  noise,  in  their  endeavors  to  call  attention 
to  the  superiority  of  their  particular  conveyance. 
In  spite  of  the  din  and  disputing  we  finally  got  under 
way,  and  our  little  procession  was  speedily  conveyed 
down  the  tiny  thoroughfares  lined  with  brightly  lighted, 
attractive  looking  native  inns.  We  were  the  only  for- 
eigners visible.  After  a  twenty  minutes  brisk  ride  from 
the  station,  we  reached  the  top  of  a  short  but  steep  hill, 
and  landed  in  the  doorway  of  the  Hotel  Gonikai,  a 
typical  and  truly  native  inn.  Off  came  our  shoes  before 
entering,  and  soon  we  squealed  with  delight  upon  seeing 
the  adorable  room  we  were  to  occupy — a  six  mat  apart- 
ment, paper  walls  and  sliding  paper  doors.  The  ever 
present  kakomona,  an  incense  burner,  a  small  table 
with  legs  four  inches  high,  a  writing  set  (to  my  surprise 
and  delight  equipped  with  a  brush  and  not  a  pen),  two 
cushions,  two  arm  rests,  a  charcoal  brazier  and  a  screen 
comprised  the  furniture.  Pushing  the  sliding  windows 
open,  we  looked  out  upon  the  moonlit  night,  and  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  shimmering  sea  beyond.  The  stars  seemed 
unusually  bright  in  this  holy  spot.  Who  can  guess  what 
my  dreams  will  be,  for  now  I  am  to  retire  on  the  com- 
fortable looking,  cleanly  spread  futora  which  the 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  jj 

"chamber-maid  boy"  has  just  placed  on  the  matted 
floor,  giving  me  a  makura  (wooden  pillow)  on  which  to 
rest  my  weary  head,  and  a  padded  kake-futon  to  keep  me 
warm.  How  I  wish  you  could  see  me  this  minute,  sitting 
up  Japanese  fashion  with  my  diary  on  my  knees  writing, 
while  occupying  a  real  Japanese  bed  or  "futora." 

I  am  keenly  looking  forward  to  my  first  glimpse  of  the 
Imperial  shrine  tomorrow. 


14  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

I  HAVE  had  my  first  visit  to  a  Mecca  and  have  seen 
the  sacred  shrine  of  Kotai  Jungu,  the  first  of  all  the 
Shinto  shrines,  the  original  of  which  was  built  on  this 
site  in  the  year  660  B.  C.  Every  twenty  years,  since  that 
date,  the  shrine  is  rebuilt  within  the  same  large  wooded 
inclosures  covering  a  vast  number  of  acres,  but  on  a  dif- 
ferent plot  of  ground,  the  old  shrine  being  dismantled 
completely  and  the  ground  resting  for  a  twenty  year 
period,  in  that  way  acquiring  purification.  The  timber 
from  which  the  temples  are  built  must  come  from  trees 
grown  in  this  wooded  inclosure,  where  an  atmosphere  of 
peace  and  holiness  has  surrounded  said  trees  from  their 
nursery  days.  The  timber  from  the  dismantled  struc- 
ture, as  well  as  other  building  material,  is  sent  to  other 
parts  of  the  Empire  to  be  used  for  the  building  of  other 
shrines. 

It  is  compulsory  upon  the  Emperor  to  make  a  pil- 
grimage to  this  temple  or  shrine  once  a  year,  which  he 
does  in  great  state,  accompanied  by  a  large  and  elabor- 
ate suite.  Two  days  are  consumed  in  going  to  the  shrine, 
two  days  are  spent  in  prayer  at  the  shrine,  and  two  days 
more  are  required  for  the  return  journey.  Emperor 
Jimmu,  the  first  of  Japan's  Emperors,  worshipped  here 
and  every  one  of  his  successors  have  done  likewise.  Its 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  75 

priests  are  the  highest  of  the  order  of  Shinto  priests,  and 
they  live  constantly  within  the  temple  compound, 
never  being  seen  outside.  The  Emperor  is  required  to 
subject  himself  to  a  process  of  purification  by  remaining 
several  hours  and  alone  in  a  square  enclosure  having 
white  stone  floor,  washing  his  hands  and  mouth  with 
the  water  of  the  river  that  flows  alongside,  confining 
himself  to  eating  certain  foods — all  before  making  his 
entry  into  the  shrine.  Even  then  he  cannot  penetrate  the 
holy  of  holies  in  the  temple — that  is  a  privilege  reserved 
unto  the  High  Priest  alone.  When  the  twenty  year  anni- 
versary date  occurs  for  the  transfer  of  the  place  of  wor- 
ship, the  sacred  emblem  is  moved  at  the  dead  of  night, 
by  the  hands  of  the  High  Priest,  and  when  this  has  been 
accomplished  the  new  temple  is  officially  opened.  This 
is  usually  done  at  a  cost  of  one  million  yen.  It  requires 
the  constant  services  of  ninety-five  uniformed  guards  to 
police  and  protect  this  wonderful  shrine.  To  give  one  an 
idea  of  the  comparative  standing  in  the  Shinto  world  as 
to  this  temple  at  Yamada,  it  might  be  stated  that  where 
this  shrine  is  placed  at  No.  I,  the  temple  at  Nikko,  so 
well  known  to  the  travellers  in  Japan,  would  stand  at 
No.  225. 

It  was  at  this  Yamada  temple  that  Viscount  Mori 
pushed  the  curtain  aside  with  his  cane  to  peer  into  the 
shrine,  and  the  following  year,  while  attending  some 
court  ceremony  at  Tokyo,  he  was  stabbed  and  killed 
instantly.  It  appears  that  a  son  of  a  Shinto  priest  had 
witnessed  the  mark  of  disrespect  of  which  the  Viscount 


j6  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

had  been  guilty,  and  he  there  and  then  vowed  he  would 
take  his  life  in  consequence. 

The  railway  cars  carrying  these  pilgrims  to  and  from 
their  Mecca  are  interesting  and  curious,  viewed  from 
our  American  or  European  standpoint.  As  stated,  they 
come  in  thousands  and  the  month  of  January  sees  nearly 
90%  of  the  total  that  comes  annually.  The  train  bearing 
us  to  our  destination  was  filled  with  them,  and  we  were 
the  only  foreigners.  With  their  feet  tucked  up  under 
them  they  squat  on  the  low,  flat,  very  wide  seats,  in  the 
case  of  the  men,  mostly  engaged  in  reading  their  periodi- 
cals that  look  like  wall  paper  designs,  the  women  either 
serving  tea  or  other  refreshments,  or  reclining  their 
wonderfully  coiffed  heads  upon  the  hard  cushioned  head 
rests,  apparently  enjoying  a  nap.  The  hair  of  these 
ladies  is  dressed  every  three  or  four  days,  and  this  con- 
trivance, which  fits  neatly  into  the  neck,  prevents  dis- 
arrangement of  the  head-dress. 

But  to  revert  to  the  temple  grounds  again.  How  am 
I  going  to  make  clear  to  you  the  fascination  of  this  spot 
and  the  compound  enclosing  it?  The  trees  are  all  giants 
of  the  forest — six  men  with  extended  arms  could  scarcely 
encircle  them.  Walls  erected  300-400  B.  C.  are  still 
standing  and  in  fine  condition. 

The  cock  is  an  emblem  of  the  Sun  Goddess  and  an  ob- 
ject of  worship.  The  legend  is  that  one  of  the  early  Em- 
perors, wishing  to  have  the  Sun  Goddess  revered,  had  a 
large  drum  made  to  be  struck  at  sunrise,  placing  the 
drum  in  the  temple  compound  where  roamed  poultry 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  77 

and  other  animal  kind  at  will.  A  cock,  fleeing  from  pur- 
suing children  and  dogs,  sought  refuge  on  the  drum,  re- 
maining there  in  safety  throughout  the  day  and  suc- 
ceeding night.  At  sunrise,  still  perched  upon  the  drum, 
he  crowed  lustily,  thus  honoring  the  Sun  Goddess  and 
establishing  the  legend  that  is  depicted  in  Japanese 
prints,  paintings,  etc.  You  see  it  on  their  kakomonas, 
on  their  porcelains  and  on  woven  materials.  The  present 
temple  grounds  are  picturesque  as  well  as  lively  with  the 
large  number  of  lovely  white  cocks,  some  bearing  tails 
from  a  foot  to  three  feet  in  length.  The  greetings  to 
the  Sun  Goddess  each  sunrise  are  indeed  voluminous 
and  complimentary. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WE  are  back  in  beloved  Kyoto  and  this  has  been 
a  day  for  "trinketing,"  as  R.  terms  our  shopping 
pastime,  conducted  in  the  native  quarters  of  these 
quaint  places.  My  fancy  dress  costume  was  the  cause, 
for  I  am  to  be  the  proud  possessor  of  a  lovely  geisha  cos- 
tume, available  for  future  fancy  dress  parties.  Please  do 
not  imagine  that  the  purchase  of  a  complete  costume  or 
outfit  is  an  easy  thing  to  accomplish.  First  we  went  to 
the  famous  pawnbroker,  Matsubaia,  quite  a  formidable 
establishment,  where  geisha  girls  and  ladies  of  high  sta- 
tion dispose  of  their  garments,  mostly  worn  but  two  or 
three  times,  sometimes  only  on  a  single  occasion.  These 
fastidious  women-folk  spend  fortunes  on  kimonos  and 
obis,  particularly  the  ladies-in-waiting  to  the  Empress 
and  others  presented  at  court,  who  simply  cannot  wear 
the  same  clothes  for  an  Imperial  function  more  than 
twice.  The  geisha  girls  are  the  spenders  in  the  woman 
world,  and  must  of  necessity  own  an  extensive,  cer- 
tainly a  varied  wardrobe.  Unlike  almost  all  other  women 
in  the  world,  the  Japanese  wear  no  ornaments  nor 
jewelry  (except  in  their  hair) — no  pearls  and  diamonds 
— hence  they  make  up  for  it  in  other  ways.  The  obi,  a 
sash  measuring  twenty-four  inches  in  width  and  twelve 
feet  in  length,  can  cost  sums  well  up  in  the  thousands  of 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  79 

dollars,  (not  yen)  as  for  instance,  those  woven  with  gold 
thread  and  weighing  sometimes  as  much  as  25  Ibs.  The 
weaving  of  these  fabrics  for  these  high-grade  obis  is 
obviously  a  work  of  the  greatest  art,  one  that  is,  I  fear, 
disappearing  with  the  advance  of  commercialism.  The 
kimonos  are  beautifully  and  artistically  embroidered, 
two  or  three  of  the  same  material  but  of  different  color 
being  worn  at  a  time,  one  on  top  of  the  other;  so  that 
when  the  wearer  walks  or  dances,  a  bit  of  color  peeps 
out  about  her  feet  and  arms. 

From  a  very  tempting  lot  put  before  me,  I  finally 
selected  a  kimono  of  dull  blue,  with  court  sleeves.  A 
lovely  pattern  of  soft  roses  in  dull  pinks  and  yellow  is 
woven  into  it,  golden  butterflies  profusely  appearing  all 
over  the  garment  in  a  dull  gold  thread.  The  lining  is  of 
red  satin,  the  color  of  red  lacquer  one  sees  in  the  temple 
shrines.  This  is  a  bit  of  camouflage,  giving  the  appear- 
ance of  wearing  two  or  three  kimonos  when,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  I  have  but  one.  Incidentally,  my  garment 
must  have  been  made  for  a  corpulent  geisha  girl! 

The  undergarment,  which  is  not  an  undergarment  to 
our  way  of  thinking,  is  a  red  lacquer  crepe  of  heavily 
woven,  gold  thread  pattern.  This  is  draped  so  as  to  show 
the  hands  and  feet  in  the  most  adorable  way.  And  as  for 
the  obi — I  feel  I  should  like  to  spell  it  in  capital  letters — 
it  is  of  gold  thread,  woven  into  a  pattern  with  dull  pinks 
and  blues.  Of  course  when  you  put  this  around  a  good 
generous  American  figure,  your  first  impulse  is  to  say 
"No  can  do,"  but  with  perseverance  it  is  surprising  how, 


So  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

after  all,  when  dressed  in  native  Japanese  garb,  we  look 
like  the  rest  of  them,  only  taller  than  the  average. 

In  the  show  room  at  the  pawnbroker's,  the  floor  was 
littered  high  with  armful  after  armful  of  the  rich  fabrics 
offered  for  our  inspection,  relieved  by  glimpses  into  the 
pretty  garden  which  is  an  essential  adjunct  to  every 
home,  every  high-class  business  house,  and  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  narrow,  winding  street  on  which  the 
home  or  shop  may  be  situated. 

Finishing  our  mission  at  the  pawnbroker's  and  don- 
ning our  shoes,  we  were  ceremoniously  bowed  to  the 
door  and  into  our  rickshaws  to  acquire  the  rest  of  the 
costume.  First  came  the  white  satin  or  silk  stockings, 
extending  only  to  the  ankle,  having  the  big  toe  provided 
for,  so  that  the  strap  of  the  sandal  can  slip  between  it 
and  the  rest  of  the  foot.  It  was  found  necessary  to  pro- 
vide for  making  to  order,  as  a  scarcity  in  ready-mades 
happened  to  prevail  at  the  time.  I  am  to  have  them  in  a 
month's  time.  The  clogs  or  foot  gear  came  next,  con- 
sisting of  a  pair  of  black  lacquered  wood  soles,  fitted 
with  silken  cords  of  purple  and  black.  The  buying  of  the 
hair  ornaments  took  some  time,  for  there  are  many  to 
choose  from,  all  lovely  beyond  description — tiny  flowers, 
gold  balls,  coral  pins,  combs  and  ever  so  many  other 
things.  Excepting  the  kimonos  and  obi,  all  purchases  of 
the  miscellaneous  articles  were  made  at  bazaar  shops 
that  occupy  quite  as  much  outside  as  inside  space;  in 
other  words,  one  practically  transacts  business  in  the 
street,  which  is  none  too  wide  as  a  rule.  Needless  to  say 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  8r 

I  attracted  an  enormous  amount  of  attention  on  the 
part  of  the  passing  native  population,  most  of  whom 
halted  to  be  amused  by  the  spectacle  of  a  foreigner  ac- 
quiring their  native  wearing  apparel.  They  must  have 
thought  things  were  reversing  themselves,  in  contem- 
plating their  own  constantly  growing  tendency  to  dis- 
card their  native  dress  for  that  of  the  European  or 
American.  Frances  deeply  regretted  that  the  evening 
light  did  not  lend  itself  to  a  kodak  snapshot  of  that  gap- 
ing, motley  crowd  that  watched  me  being  measured  for 
my  stockings — men,  women,  children,  babies  and  dogs; 
it  is  in  such  striking  contrast  to  a  shopping  scene  on 
Fifth  Avenue.  These  little  people  are  always  so  merry, 
seeming  to  take  the  deepest  interest  in  my  beaver  coat, 
occasionally  stroking  it,  invariably  rubbing  up  against 
it.  At  first  I  felt  a  little  nervous  at  having  them  so  near 
me,  but  I  am  entirely  at  ease  now  in  having  a  crowd 
about  me,  as  they  are  universally  good-natured  and 
kind. 


82  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XX 

TOMORROW  we  are  off  for  Korea,  or  I  should  say 
Chosen,  as  long  as  I  am  in  the  Japanese  Empire, 
for  the  Japanese  are  rather  insistent  that  their  new  de- 
pendency should  quickly  change  its  name  as  they  hope 
to  improve  and  develop  the  country's  resources,  cus- 
toms and  culture.  With  many  regrets  we  are  leaving  this 
part  of  Japan,  having  enjoyed  our  second  visit  even 
more  than  our  initial  one.  We  owe  much  to  a  most  pro- 
ficient courier,  Mr.  A.  Akiyama  (attached  in  his  capac- 
ity as  courier  to  the  U.  S.  A.  Embassy  at  Tokyo)  whose 
unfailing  courtesy  and  rare  intelligence  went  a  long  way 
to  helping  us  see  and  appreciate  things  under  the  most 
favorable  circumstances. 

So  with  heavy  hearts  we  are  pulling  up  from  Kyoto, 
the  truly  Japanese  city  of  Japan.  The  maples  are  still 
red  and  golden  on  the  hillsides,  while  the  temples  (and 
there  are  over  one  thousand  here)  hidden  among  the 
pines  were  like  dream  land,  especially  so  at  sundown,  or 
as  darkness  was  setting  in,  when  the  temple  bells  would 
sound  out  on  the  night  air.  Looking  up  toward  the  sacred 
mountain  we  believed  a  light  to  be  visible,  only  to  ob- 
serve that  it  was  none  other  than  Venus  rising  and  shin- 
ing out  against  the  dark  mountain  top,  with  always  the 
comfortable  feeling  that  some  temple  priest  was  keep- 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  83 

ing  watch  while  we  dreamed  of  another  day  full  of  new 
sights  and  joys,  of  old  shrines  with  steps  worn  by  the 
feet  of  pilgrims  climbing  to  the  holy  of  holies  with  their 
offerings  of  rice,  money  and  paper  prayers. 

Kyoto  was  once  the  capital  of  Japan,  so  consequently 
is  filled  with  history,  romantic  as  it  is  interesting.  And 
as  for  "trinketing,"  it  is  without  doubt  the  most  won- 
derful place  imaginable.  In  gratifying  our  shopping  ap- 
petite our  modest  letter  of  credit  looks  like  a  country 
school  petition,  so  marked  up  is  it  by  the  evidences  of 
our  frequent  trips  to  the  bank,  and  the  resulting  drafts 
upon  our  exchequer. 

It  may  be  just  as  well  that  we  are  leaving  Kyoto  and 
its  tempting  shops,  otherwise  the  head  of  the  family 
would  have  to  return  to  the  U.  S.  A.  and  the  proverbial 
grindstone  to  which  to  apply  his  nose,  to  make  up  for 
the  deficits  caused  by  our  debauch  in  priest  robes, 
temple  sets,  old  Buddhas —  centuries  old —  temple 
lamps  and  screens,  etc.,  etc. 

A  few  hours  by  train  brings  us  to  the  commercial  and 
port  city  of  Kobe,  where  we  are  to  spend  the  night  at  the 
Tor  Hotel.  The  Japanese  shrine  gate,  with  which  we  are 
all  familiar,  is  known  as  torii.  Kobe  being  also  the  "Gate 
City,"  the  hotel  people  deemed  it  an  appropriate  name. 
It  was  then  known  as  the  Torii  Hotel.  This  was  years 
before  the  great  war.  In  due  time,  an  enterprising  Teu- 
tonic hotel  man  acquired  it,  and  changed  the  spelling  to 
"Thor,"  retaining  the  meaning  of  gate  in  German. 
When  Japan  declared  war  upon  Germany  and  interned 


84  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

its  citizens,  the  Teutonic  name  of  the  hotel  was  not  con- 
sidered a  good  asset,  so  its  spelling  was  changed  again 
and  it  is  plain  Tor  now.  In  spite  of  its  vicissitudes  of 
name  it  is  prettily  situated  on  a  side  hill,  but  no  at- 
tempts have  been  made,  or  if  made  they  are  not  realized, 
to  make  it  attractive  or  comfortable.  Kobe  has  little  to 
recommend  it  to  the  tourist.  Tan  San  water,  the  Poland, 
Apollinaris  and  Waukesha  product  of  Japan,  comes 
from  here. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  85 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WE  were  called  in  the  morning  at  six,  the  Biffys 
"saving  our  lives"  by  sending  to  our  room  a 
thermos  of  steaming  hot  coffee,  to  tide  us  over  until 
breakfast  on  the  train.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  have  relied 
upon  our  hotel  to  furnish  an  early  repast,  for  the  maxim 
that  you  cannot  hustle  the  East  is  proved  time  and  again 
to  all  of  us  who  attempt  so  large  an  order. 

It  is  a  long  twelve  hour  train  trip  from  Kobe  to 
Shimonosecki,  so  we  settled  ourselves  as  best  we  could 
for  the  day,  armed  with  books,  papers,  and  a  desire  to 
peep  at  the  scenery  from  time  to  time. 

As  we  slip  along  the  shore  of  the  Inland  Sea,  along 
which  our  rail  route  takes  us,  we  are  absorbed  by  the 
variety  of  scenes  the  picture  constantly  takes  on.  We 
pass  through  fishing  villages,  with  their  countless  tiny 
boats  bobbing  up  and  down  upon  the  surface  of  the 
water,  like  children's  toy  craft  in  a  park  pond.  You 
seem  to  know  each  boat  has  its  devoted  master,  and 
that  he  showers  loving  care  upon  his  ropes,  sails  and 
nets.  What  stories  they  could  tell  of  hardship  and  dan- 
ger if  only  they  could  speak.  Fluffy  clouds  are  faithfully 
mirrored  in  the  sea  below.  We  now  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  sacred  island — Miyajima — with  its  great  red  Shinto 
gate  standing  far  into  the  sea,  remindful  of  every  picture 


86  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

you  have  ever  seen  of  Japan.  The  red  maples  are  still 
visible  on  the  hillside,  and  now  orange  trees  in  full  bear- 
ing and  great  profusion  add  to  the  pretty  picture  that 
enthralls  us.  Before  we  realize  it,  the  sun  is  setting  over 
the  hills,  and  long  shadows  reflect  on  the  many  islands 
that  seem  to  float  upon  this  lovely  stretch  of  water, 
bathing  them  in  a  purple  haze,  reflecting  the  islands  and 
producing  a  fascinating  mirage  of  themselves  in  a  sea 
of  blue.  A  big  moon  comes  up  to  replace  the  glorious  sun 
and  we  see  another  beauty,  a  purer,  whiter,  kindler 
light,  that  bathes  the  scene  in  silver.  The  tiny  lights  of 
the  village  shine  out;  the  smoke  from  each  hut  goes 
straight  up  into  the  night,  like  an  offering  of  thanks  for 
this  perfect  day.  It  all  seems  like  a  dream  picture. 

On  going  forward  to  the  dining  car  for  the  last  meal 
of  the  day,  we  were  at  once  satisfying  any  pangs  of  hun- 
ger that  might  have  been  present,  as  well  as  to  dispose  of 
an  hour  or  more  in  the  warm,  cheerful  diner.  Night  had 
come  on  as  we  pressed  our  faces  against  the  moist, 
steam-covered  panes  of  glass,  making  little  clear  spots 
on  the  glass  with  our  pocket  handkerchiefs  and  noses, 
while  catching  fleeting  glimpses  of  the  railway  stations 
and  straggling  villages,  as  we  dashed  through  on  our 
way  to  the  coast.  After  a  good  dinner  we  started  back 
to  our  car,  a  considerable  distance  toward  the  end  of  the 
long  train,  picking  and  choosing  our  course  through 
aisles  and  corridors  of  the  many  cars,  all  of  them  more 
than  comfortably  rilled  with  natives  none  too  careful  in 
the  use  of  the  generous,  everpresent  "co-operative" 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  87 

cuspidor,  placed  in  the  aisle  center  of  each  car.  A  clean, 
cool  breeze  came  from  an  open  vestibule  door,  and  no- 
ticing that  our  train  had  stopped  alongside  a  railway 
station  platform,  the  temptation  was  irresistible  to 
abandon  our  attempts  to  keep  clear  and  clean  of  the 
cuspidor  dangers  of  the  car  aisles,  so  we  stepped  out 
upon  the  platform,  under  the  bright  stars  of  heaven,  to 
make  a  run  for  our  own  car,  thus  avoiding  all  the  inter- 
vening ones.  To  our  horror,  however,  the  train  began 
to  move  quietly  and  smoothly,  leaving  us  hatless  and 
coatless  on  a  lonely  station  platform  in  a  strange  land, 
having  a  strange  language.  We  made  a  return  dart  for 
the  vestibule  door  from  which  we  had  emerged,  only  to 
find  it  closed,  locked.  By  this  time  three  of  us,  compris- 
ing the  "given  up  for  lost"  party,  made  a  frantic  attack 
on  the  car  windows,  which  finally  brought  the  guard  of 
the  last  car  of  the  train  to  our  aid,  who  lost  no  time  in 
opening  the  door  and  in  assisting  us  to  regain  the  train. 
Breathless  and  trembling  with  the  thrill  of  excitement, 
you  may  be  sure  we  were  oh  so  glad  to  get  back  with 
people  and  light  again,  for  we  had  lived  days  in  those 
few  instants  of  agonized  suspense  out  there  in  the  cold 
under  the  lonely  stars. 

Shortly  after  this  incident — an  hour  or  two — we 
reached  the  end  of  our  day's  rail  journey,  Shimonosecki, 
where  a  fair  sized  steamer  awaited  its  passengers  for  the 
night  trip  across  to  Fusan,  where  we  are  to  take  a  train 
again  for  ancient  Seoul.  If  Korea — or  I  should  say 
Chosen — is  as  good  to  us  as  Japan  has  been,  we  shall  be 


88  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

more  than  satisfied.  But  then  we  must  not  expect  too 
much,  as  this  is  winter,  and  the  stories  told  us  by  our 
Japanese  friends  prepare  us  for  discomforts  galore,  mak- 
ing us  sometimes  wonder  if  we  are  not  foolish  to  leave 
Japan,  with  its  merry,  good-natured  people,  its  attrac- 
tive tea  gardens,  its  tiny  houses  and  clean  streets,  its 
little  people  with  big  babies  strapped  to  their  backs,  and 
everything  done  for  us  to  make  us  comfortable  and 
happy.  But  we  are  Americans  with  2Oth  Century  un- 
rest in  our  hearts,  and  we  must  be  off  and  on  our  way, 
if  only  to  eventually  return  home  in  time  to  start  out  all 
over  again  to  penetrate  other  parts  of  the  world.  In  fact 
our  mental  traveling  has  become  as  popular  as  it  is  cer- 
tainly expensive,  especially  in  the  evening  over  our 
after-dinner  coffee  cups  and  cigarettes,  before  an  open 
fire.  We  have  been  known  to  go  to  India,  Kashmir, 
Cambodia,  Siam  and  the  South  Seas  in  a  single  evening, 
and  be  quite  ready  the  next  evening  for  Alaska,  France 
and  Norway.  But  without  imagination,  life  would  be 
dull  indeed,  and  our  little  party  of  four  pals  seem  to 
possess  an  over-dose  of  this  quality,  our  fairy  god- 
mothers certainly  having  effectually  touched  us  with 
her  wand,  and  at  the  same  time  spilled  the  contents  of  her 
sack  containing  imagination  all  over  us,  when  bestow- 
ing upon  us  her  good  wishes  for  those  desirable  qualities 
essential  to  the  making  of  a  human  soul,  with  its  joys 
and  sorrows,  good  and  bad  instincts. 

But  I  am  digressing,  for  meanwhile  we  have  spent  a 
night  on  the  sea — a  rough  crossing  with  the  Shigura 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  89 

Maru — reminding  one  at  times  of  the  English  Channel 
and  its  corkscrew  twist.  When  I  therefore  sat  up  in  my 
berth  early  in  the  morning,  to  sew  clean  collars  and 
cuffs  on  my  blouse,  it  almost  resulted  in  my  undoing. 
Consequently  I  had  to  postpone  my  breakfast  hour  and 
be  very  good  and  quiet,  as  otherwise  I  should  have 
spoiled  my  good  record — it  had  been  in  great  danger — 
for  at  one  time  our  good  ship  was  dancing  about  on  the 
top  of  a  wave,  only  to  take  a  header  into  a  hold  from 
which  it  seemed  ages  to  make  up  its  mind  to  get  back, 
to  repeat  the  disagreeable  operation  once  again.  We 
finally  landed  at  Fusan  on  schedule  time,  and  while  our 
ship  was  being  docked,  I  went  in  search  of  a  cup  of 
coffee,  only  to  find  the  breakfast  room  closed.  A  smiling 
ship's  officer,  however,  recognizing  my  hungry  look, 
ordered  a  boy  to  bring  me  coffee  which  I  thoroughly  en- 
joyed, standing  in  the  companion-way,  with  howling 
coolies  snatching  up  bags  and  trunks  all  about  me,  just 
missing  my  precious  cup,  which  I  drained  to  the  last 
drop. 


go  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XXII 

\  LTHOUGH  still  on  Japanese  soil  (Korea  or 
JT\  Chosen)  it  seemed  to  be  necessary  to  exhibit  our 
passports,  but  that  formality  was  soon  attended  to,  and 
then  we  sought  comfortable  seats  for  an  all  day  ride  in 
the  train.  Again  we  are  the  only  foreigners  occupying  a 
well  filled  train,  the  others  being  Japanese.  A  large 
family  of  children  with  their  nurses,  together  with  the 
parents,  monopolize  most  of  the  car.  The  husband  and 
father,  it  would  seem,  must  be  a  personage  of  import- 
ance for  at  numerous  big  stations  he  is  met  by  large 
delegations  of  men  and  women,  who  bow  low  and  many 
times — to  which  he  must  respond  in  kind,  also  many 
times — and  lengthy  speeches  on  both  sides,  with  more 
bowing,  characterize  each  occasion.  The  women  folk 
keep  up  a  mumble  of  words  and  giggles,  sounding  very 
much  like  a  flock  of  hens  in  a  barnyard  cackling  over 
their  food. 

Our  first  impressions,  as  we  glance  out  of  the  car  win- 
dows, fill  us  with  delight,  for  the  country  stretches 
beautifully  on  each  side  of  a  tortuous,  interesting  river, 
which  we  cross  and  re-cross,  as  we  make  our  way 
through  a  narrow,  more  often  a  wide  valley,  skirted 
with  hills  of  varying  size  and  shape.  The  river  is  alive 
with  craft,  an  odd  sight  being  the  cargo  boats  drawn  by 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  91 

man  power,  the  tow  rope  attached  to  the  top  of  a  high 
mast.  On  every  side  we  see  the  Korean,  both  sexes,  in 
native  dress  of  white  linen,  looking  much  like  the  Ku 
Klux  Klan,  the  men  with  their  partly  shaved  heads  and 
much  treasured  top-knots,  wearing  stovepipe  hats, 
seemingly  ridiculously  small  in  size,  held  on  their  heads 
by  means  of  horse  hair  frames  of  cage-like  effect,  the 
latter  surmounting  the  top-knot.  Perched  on  this  frame 
is  the  shiny  hatlet  referred  to,  the  combination  head- 
gear resembling  for  all  the  world  a  two  storied  pagoda. 

Never  have  I  seen  such  walkers.  They  swing  along 
the  highways,  erect,  with  long  strides,  their  arms  folded 
and  hands  tucked  in  the  sleeves,  generally  single  file, 
like  animated  mile  posts.  Look  where  you  may,  far 
from  town  or  city,  you  will  see  these  white-clad  figures, 
remindful  of  marble  tomb  stones,  on  the  roads,  in  the 
fields,  in  the  hills  and  on  the  mountains,  standing  out 
against  the  skyline,  until  you  are  certain  that  all  Korea 
is  out  of  doors. 

The  Korean's  white  clothing  calls  for  an  ever-ending 
job  of  laundry  work  from  his  wife  who,  in  addition  to 
being  washerwoman,  the  mother  of  a  huge  family, 
grinds  his  meal,  fills  his  long  tobacco  pipe,  performs  all 
menial  work,  and  acts  for  the  human  go-cart  for  the 
baby  if  a  young  brother  or  sister,  of  six  to  eight  years, 
is  not  available  to  have  the  burden  wished  on  their 
back. 

The  villages  are  comprised  of  huts  made  of  mud, 
roofed  with  ricestraw.  These  roofs  are  renewed  every 


92  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

year  after  the  rice  is  harvested,  but  the  old  roof  is  never 
removed,  the  new  one  being  placed  over  it;  and  so  many 
of  the  old  huts  resemble  a  big  mushroom,  so  heavy  is  the 
overhanging  roof  of  a  period  of  years,  compared  to  the 
slender  walls  that  may  be  likened  to  the  stem.  Children 
play  about  doorways  that  are  doorless,  mingling  with 
the  poultry,  the  kiddies  wearing  pantaloons  tightly 
drawn  around  the  ankles.  Their  garments  are  of  many 
colors.  A  small  wadded  zouave  jacket,  mostly  of  red 
cotton,  is  worn  so  as  to  leave  a  gap  between  it  and  their 
trousers,  where  their  bodies  are  bare.  Their  little  brown 
bodies  must  be  hardy  and  not  feel  the  cold,  for  we  saw 
some  wearing  only  the  jacket,  reaching  a  little  below 
the  armpits.  The  women  are,  as  a  general  thing,  a  sad 
looking  lot — I  now  refer  to  the  peasant  and  village 
class — in  white  grass-cloth  clothes,  occasionally  re- 
lieved by  a  jacket  of  blue  or  red.  An  outer  coat  is  worn 
on  the  head,  the  sleeves  hanging  as  an  ornament.  The 
baby  is  tied  on  her  back  in  a  most  insecure  manner,  the 
infant  hanging  far  down  on  her  hips.  The  mother's 
breasts  are  always  exposed,  in  some  cases  so  generously 
that  the  "lunch  counter"  is  transformed  into  a  pipe  line 
that  passes  under  her  arm  to  the  hungry  passenger  on 
the  back  seat,  demanding  attention  at  the  most  inop- 
portune moments. 

It  is  heart-rending  to  see  children  playing  at  hop- 
scotch in  the  village  roadway,  with  a  sleeping  baby's 
head  bobbing  over  their  shoulders,  or  a  waking  baby's 
colic-inspired  screams  issuing  up  to  heaven — fortu- 


NEfT  YORK  TO  PEKING  93 

nately  it  seems  not  to  interfere  with  the  sport  of  the 
game. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  reached  the 
high  mountain  passes,  followed  by  a  rapid  drop  in  the 
thermometer.  Rice  paddy  fields  have  been  transformed 
into  icy  steps  up  the  mountain  sides.  A  light  snow  is 
falling,  accompanied  by  a  high,  sharp  wind,  making  it 
seem  bleak  and  soulless  in  this  faraway  country  of  the 
Hermit  Kingdom. 


94  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SEOUL  (Keijo),  the  capital  of  Korea  (Chosen),  was 
reached  at  7  :jo  P.  M.,  a  huge  motor  bus  conveying 
us  to  our  caravansery.  After  risking  our  lives  with  an 
irresponsible  chauffeur  who  tried  hard  to  capsize  us,  as 
the  top-heavy  vehicle  (all  our  luggage  was  top-side) 
tore  around  corners,  we  were  thrice  glad  to  reach  the 
Ritz  Hotel  of  the  Far  East,  the  "Chosen  Hotel."  To 
find  beautifully  warm,  clean  rooms  and  beds,  bath- 
rooms perfectly  appointed,  after  the  uncomfortable 
train  service  of  the  Japanese  Government  railways — 
heated  principally  with  bad  air — was  a  pleasant  revela- 
tion indeed.  Oh  the  joy  of  a  real  bed,  and  a  tiled  bath 
with  plenty  of  hot  water!  So  I  crawled  beneath  the 
downy  comforter  with  a  prayer  of  thanks  that  the  stork 
had  dropped  me  down  a  good  U.  S.  A.  chimney,  instead 
of  having  left  me  on  the  roof  of  a  Korean  home,  where 
I  should  have  been  fated  to  grow  to  womanhood  in  a 
country  where  man  has  indeed  an  exalted  and  selfish 
idea  of  himself — it  shows  in  his  very  walk  and  every 
step. 

It  is  hard  to  realize  that  we  are  in  far-off  Korea,  our 
guide,  one  Mr.  Peter  M.  Y.  Lee,  awaiting  our  pleasure 
to  start  off  to  see  the  city  of  Seoul,  which  the  Japanese 
have  re-christened  Keijo.  Our  rickshaws  speedily  took 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  95 

us  to  the  encircling  city  wall,  whence  a  fine  view  of  the 
city  and  surrounding  country  could  be  obtained.  The 
old  palace  and  home  of  several  dynasties  of  kings,  just 
within  the  wall,  is  in  a  state  of  decay,  and  seems  cheap 
and  flimsy  in  its  faded  grandeur. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  city  street  life  holds  greater 
interest  for  us  than  that  of  any  of  the  other  capitals  in 
this  part  of  the  world.  We  could  not  resist  stopping  to 
shop  for  a  native  costume,  and  as  the  shops  are  com- 
pletely open  toward  the  street,  we  were  the  objects  of 
curiosity  to  all  out-doors  as  we  indulged  in  that  pecul- 
iarly oriental  game  of  bargaining,  invariably  being 
obliged  to  go  through  the  motions  of  giving  up  all  hope 
of  making  a  trade,  by  clambering  into  our  rickshaws, 
only  to  have  the  shopkeeper  pursue  us  with  the  pur- 
chase wrapped  up  and  ready  for  delivery  at  our  offered 
price. 

The  next  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast,  we 
boarded  a  South  Manchurian  railway  train  for  Mukden. 
It  was  only  possible  to  secure  a  four-berth  sleeping  com- 
partment for  our  quartette  of  two  couples,  but  a  great 
deal  worse  fate  can  befall  one  in  these  days  of  congested 
travel  conditions.  It  is  said  that  one  must  travel  with 
friends  to  know  their  true  nature.  By  that  test  we  can- 
not speak  too  highly  of  the  even-tempered  Biffys.  I 
wonder  what  candid  verdict  they  can  pronounce  about 
us!  So  we  slept  four  in  a  bed — for  that  is  what  it  prac- 
tically amounted  to — in  that  tiny  Manchurian  railway 
sleeping  compartment.  Our  men  had  to  sit  up  late  in 


p<5  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

anticipation  of  crossing  the  China  frontier,  where  pass- 
port and  customs  formalities  had  to  be  attended  to  in 
person.  Contrary  to  usual  practice,  Korean  officials 
examine  passports  of  passengers  leaving  Korea,  as  well 
as  those  entering  the  country.  So  we  first  had  a  Korean 
passport  examination,  then  a  half  hour  later  a  Chinese 
passport  examination,  and  finally  a  Chinese  customs 
examination — the  latter  involving  the  unloading  of  all 
baggage,  large  and  small,  its  transfer  on  coolie  backs  to 
a  remote  station,  its  inspection  (with  particular  refer- 
ence to  opium  smuggling)  and  then  its  return  to  a  new 
baggage  car  by  the  same  lengthy,  arduous  process.  We 
women,  having  retired  to  our  diminutive  upper  berths, 
were  certain  a  riot  had  broken  loose,  only  to  learn  that 
the  handling  of  our  luggage  was  causing  commotion. 
One  of  my  pet  pieces  of  baggage  is  called  the  "man- 
eater,"  a  week-end  bag  which  became  the  object  of  sus- 
picion of  a  customs  inspector.  It  was  the  only  piece  of 
baggage  for  which  I  possessed  no  key,  and  consequently 
I  had  fastened  it  with  a  stout  cord  and  affixed  seals  to  it, 
thus  making  it  safe  to  place  in  the  luggage  van.  So  the 
cord  and  seals  had  to  be  cut,  and  after  displaying  the 
perfectly  harmless  contents,  the  inspector  passed  it 
without  further  question.  So  then  it  had  to  be  left  un- 
locked— being  without  a  key  for  it — and  our  already 
over-crowded  compartment  was  called  upon  to  store 
this  pest  of  a  bag.  "Man-eater"  and  its  owner  were  not 
very  popular,  as  you  may  imagine! 

At  last  our  men  returned  and  all  hands  turned  in,  but 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  97 

only  for  a  few  hours,  as  at  six  o'clock  we  were  called  to 
get  ready  for  alighting  at  Mukden,  where  we  were  to 
change  cars  for  the  Peking  train.  The  moon  was  big  and 
bright  as  we  stepped  upon  the  bleak  train  platform,  the 
icy  morning  air  causing  us  to  cough  as  it  filled  our  lungs. 
It  was  several  degrees  below  zero. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MUKDEN  (also  spelled  Moukden)  is  the  capital  of 
Manchuria,  populated  by  200,000  Chinese,  sev- 
eral thousand  Japanese,  and  one  hundred  Europeans 
and  Americans.  Four  railway  lines  centre  here,  extending 
respectively  to  Seoul  (where  we  came  from)  to  Darien 
(Port  Arthur)  and  to  Harbin,  where  connection  is  made 
with  the  Trans-Siberian  route,  that  once  upon  a  time 
operated  trains  to  European  Asia.  A  fourth  extends  to 
Peking. 

The  Yamato  Hotel,  conducted  by  the  South  Man- 
churian  Railway  Company,  forms  part  of  the  station 
building.  It  was  to  this  friendly  looking  door  we  dashed 
in  the  wee  hours  of  the  morning,  the  icy  air  proving 
trying  to  us,  unaccustomed  as  we  were  to  such  tempera- 
ture. With  stamping  feet  and  between  coughs,  we  ap- 
plied for  rooms  in  which  to  tidy  up  during  the  inter- 
mission between  trains,  only  to  be  informed  there  was 
nothing  available.  But  in  some  mysterious  way  we, 
nevertheless,  were  assigned  to  a  huge  apartment,  a 
combination  banquet  hall,  drawing  room  and  bath,  the 
latter  equipped  with  hot  water  only,  the  cold  being 
frozen.  I  am  trained  never  to  inquire  how  these  seem- 
ingly impossible  things  are  accomplished,  R.  having  a 
way  all  his  own,  this  making  traveling  with  him  most 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  99 

comfortable.  Nothing  seems  too  much  trouble  if  it  is 
going  to  add  in  the  slightest  to  my  comfort. 

So  our  quartette  took  turns  in  performing  our  ablu- 
tions in  the  boiling  hot  water,  and  were  ready  for  break- 
fast as  the  sun  came  up  to  cheer  the  frozen  land.  It 
really  seemed  to  warm  things  up  a  little,  for  the  frost 
on  the  window  panes  became  a  little  less  thick  and  we 
could  almost  see  through  them.  After  breakfast  we 
started  out  for  a  brisk  walk  to  see  the  city,  only  to  learn 
that  real  Mukden  was  three  miles  away,  the  section  we 
were  in  containing,  besides  the  station  and  hotel,  like- 
wise the  railway  shops,  a  good  hospital  and  a  few  strag- 
gling places  of  business.  We  soon  decided  that  the  old 

O         or 

city  would  have  to  remain  unexplored  by  us,  as  it  was 
too  cold  to  go  on  any  Columbus  tours  of  discovery. 

On  resuming  our  train  journey,  we  realize  that  we 
have  caught  up  with  a  personally  conducted  party  of 
our  countrymen  and  women,  an  American  Express 
Company  tour,  consisting  of  eighteen  persons,  which  is 
likely  to  restrict  a  fair  distribution  of  the  available 
luxuries  and  comforts  en  route,  for  Americans  have  a 
habit  of  liking  the  best  facilities  going,  which  include 
the  best  in  food  and  drink,  as  well  as  seeing  the  sights 
under  the  most  favorable  conditions.  We  are  hoping 
they  will  not  remain  long  in  Peking,  for  these  oriental 
cities  are  not  equal  to  the  strain  of  our  countrymen  in 
too  big  a  dose. 

The  country  we  are  running  through — Manchuria — 
is  flat  and  desert-like,  with  clouds  of  dust  over  every- 


/oo  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

thing.  Many  soldiers  are  visible,  being  particularly  in 
evidence  at  stations  where  they  are  lined  up,  dressed 
in  fur  lined  uniforms  and  with  fur  caps,  standing  at  at- 
tention as  we  approach.  The  Chinese  government  main- 
tains soldier  police  along  the  railway  line,  to  insure  the 
safety  of  passengers  and  property  on  the  freight  or 
goods  trains.  Bandits  of  a  desperate  kind  infest  these 
parts,  and  are  likely  to  attack  a  train,  carrying  off  every- 
thing of  value. 

As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  a  desert  plain  stretches 
before  it,  with  an  occasional  village,  looking  like  a  dust 
heap  or  mound  of  brown  earth.  Nothing  else  to  relieve 
the  eye.  Snow  is  beginning  to  fall,  only  adding  to  the 
bleakness  and  desolation.  The  few  Manchurians  to  be 
seen  have  an  ugly  and  forbidding  appearance  as  they 
tramp  along  the  alleged  road,  that  is  marked  by  deep 
ruts,  beside  the  railway  right  of  way.  We  encounter  dust 
storms,  after  the  snow,  causing  everyone  to  sneeze  and 
cough.  These  storms  are  strange  freaks  of  nature,  be- 
ginning with  a  yellowish  tinge  that  pervades  the  atmos- 
phere and  covers  the  sun,  followed  by  the  precipitation 
of  yellow  dust  in  abundance,  like  rain.  It  takes  days  to 
free  your  clothes,  to  say  nothing  of  getting  it  out  of  one's 
hair. 

Another  night  on  the  train  and  another  experience  of 
discomfort.  Fancy  taking  one  of  our  ordinary  cattle 
cars,  provided  with  partitions  to  separate  the  compart- 
ments, one  large  seat  running  crosswise,  which  is  made 
into  a  lower  berth  at  night,  on  top  of  which  is  also  an 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  tot 

upper  berth.  A  very  small  window,  so  placed  you  can- 
not look  out  of  it  unless  you  stand  up  before  it — a  wash- 
stand,  generally  not  in  working  order — also  electric 
lights  in  same  frame  of  mind,  completing  the  equip- 
ment. Heating  apparatus  gives  very  spasmodic  service, 
either  being  unbearably  hot  or  so  painfully  absent  as  to 
freeze  one  alive.  A  dining  car,  where  good  food  is  badly 
served  by  slovenly,  dirty  Chinese  waiters.  But  in  spite 
of  all  these  drawbacks,  we  would  willingly  face  and  un- 
dergo more,  as  we  have  high  hopes  that  all  will  be 
worth  while  to  see  interesting  Peking,  with  its  Forbidden 
City,  its  wonderful  age,  history  and  art,  and  lastly  to 
think  of  all  the  "trinketing"  in  store  for  us! 


102  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XXV 

HERE  we  are  at  last  in  Peking.  After  a  breakfast 
in  our  dining  car,  where  we  all  appeared  in  fur 
coats,  and  consumed  huge  cups  of  steaming  coffee  to 
ke?p  warm  and  win  out  over  the  heatless  car,  we  arrived 
in  the  busy,  hustling  Mukden-Peking  station,  just  out- 
side of  the  big  wall  that  encloses  the  foreign  legations. 
We  walked  to  the  Wagons-Lits  Hotel,  and  there  were 
met  by  a  number  of  the  American  Express  Company 
party  with  long  faces,  that  betokened  the  usual  "wel- 
come" one  gets  from  the  popular  hotels:  "No  rooms  to 
be  had."  Our  hearts  did  sink  deep  down  into  our  cold 
boots.  Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  we  had  a  wire 
from  the  Wagons-Lits  people  confirming  our  booking, 
we  knew  by  experience  the  irresponsible  ways  of  some 
of  the  Far  Eastern  hotels,  and  our  misgivings  were  in- 
deed great  as  we  approached  the  desk  to  inscribe  our 
names,  ages,  home  and  nationality.  A  pleasant  disap- 
pointment awaited  us  for  four  rooms,  each  with  bath, 
had  been  set  aside  for  our  quartette,  as  a  result  of  a 
garbled  telegram,  so  it  was  with  impressive  generosity 
that  we  relinquished  one  half  of  our  reservation  so  that 
some  of  the  American  Expressites  were  correspondingly 
made  happy. 
To  get  into  a  clean,  warm  room  and  a  bath  tub  that 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  103 

was  in  working  order,  was  a  luxury  almost  too  good  to 
be  true.  I  spent  the  whole  day  in  splashing,  rinding  the 
water  so  hard  that  I  ordered  six  quarts  of  bottled  table 
water  with  which  to  wash  my  hair,  after  having  had  it 
boiled  by  a  trusty  China  boy.  By  the  way,  this  table 
water  is  put  up  in  what  must  have  been  Rhine  wine 
bottles.  It  is  non-sparkling,  the  label  reading  "Silent 
Water."  It  all  smacks  of  Germanism,  although  I  must 
say,  the  people  of  North  China  demonstrated  that  they 
were  good  allies  of  ours  in  having  torn  down  the  monu- 
ment originally  erected  by  the  Chinese  Government,  on 
the  order  of  the  ex-Kaiser,  to  the  memory  of  Baron  Von 
Kettler,  the  first  foreigner  to  be  killed  in  Peking  pre- 
ceding the  Boxer  uprising  in  1900.  The  monument 
marking  the  spot  where  the  Baron  was  slain  was  quite 
elaborate  in  its  design,  and  supremely  humble  in  its  in- 
scription— also  dictated  by  the  ex-Kaiser — but  nothing 
now  remains  to  recall  the  incident. 

It  is  bright,  clear  and  severely  cold,  and  although  I 
begged  R.  to  bring  warm  clothing,  particularly  his  fur- 
lined  overcoat,  he  successfully  talked  me  out  of  my  for 
once  good  judgment.  Consequently  most  of  our  first 
full  day  in  Peking  has  been  spent  in  equipping  him  with 
warm  garments,  and  ordering  a  fur-lined  coat.  This 
errand  took  us  to  a  fur  shop  in  the  native  city  where  a 
wonderful  line  of  skins  was  displayed.  Furs  from  Mon- 
golia, Siberia  and  Russia — sables  and  ermine,  foxes  of 
every  shade,  mountain  sheep  and  goat,  also  animals  of 
which  I  had  never  heard.  A  lovely  yellow  and  brown  fur 


104  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

lining  was  finally  selected,  which  proved  to  be  baby 
camel  skins,  too  soft  and  warm  for  words  of  mine  to 
express,  also  extremely  light  in  weight.  A  tailor  was 
then  sought  and  found,  who  agreed  to  have  the  complete 
coat  ready  and  fit  to  wear  within  twenty-four  hours 
time.  He  carried  out  his  contract  to  the  minute. 

We  rickshawed  to  the  Temple  of  Heaven  in  the  morn- 
ing and  to  the  Forbidden  City  in  the  afternoon.  The 
Temple  of  Heaven  with  its  marble  throne  is  where  the 
Emperor  prayed  to  the  One  God,  with  but  horizon  on 
every  side,  the  marble  terrace  huge  in  its  dimensions 
with  its  red  lacquer  and  marble  railings  being  so  placed 
as  to  give  effect  to  the  claim  that  he  was  worshipping 
in  the  centre  of  the  universe. 

The  more  I  observe  of  this  race,  the  more  I  am  im- 
pressed with  its  great  age,  great  wisdom  and  great  poise. 
They  seem  to  have  forgotten  more  than  the  rest  of  the 
world  ever  knew,  if  we  except  India  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

As  we  speed  along  the  thoroughly  interesting  streets 
of  Peking,  and  particularly  those  skirting  the  walled 
Tartar  City,  our  rickshaw  progress  is  often  interrupted 
by  long  camel  caravans  on  their  way  to  Mongolia, 
Tibet  and  Turkestan.  These  animals  are  not  their 
skinney,  hairless  brethren  of  the  sunbaked  countries  of 
India  or  Egypt,  being  covered  by  luxurious  brown  fur 
robes  of  their  own,  one  on  each  hump,  to  withstand  the 
rigors  of  the  climate  of  the  north,  and  the  severe 
weather  encountered  in  the  high  altitudes.  The  Mon- 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  105 

golian  camel  has  two  humps,  while  his  species  of  the 
southern  counties  has  but  one.  Over  each  of  the  humps 
of  the  former  seems  to  grow  long  brown,  curly  hair,  very 
thick,  hanging  down  so  as  almost  to  touch  the  ground, 
giving  the  robe-like  effect.  They  also  have  knee  pads 
and  ankle  muffs  of  this  same  long,  heavy  hair.  With 
great  strides,  heads  held  high,  they  strut  with  a  good 
natured  air,  truly  seeming  to  have  better  nerves  and 
sweeter  tempers  than  the  sand-baked  beasts  of  burden 
I  met  in  Egypt  or  India.  A  camel  caravan  in  Peking  is  a 
very  silent  affair,  in  fact  you  are  almost  upset  in  your 
rickshaw,  their  soft  bodies  coming  unexpectedly  upon 
you  without  a  sound  of  warning,  in  contra  distinction 
to  the  caravans  of  India  that  one  can  hear  for  a  great 
distance,  drivers  as  well  as  the  camels  fussing  and  quar- 
reling with  one  another,  and  frequently  extending  their 
altercations  to  those  traveling  along  the  same  road. 

Again  we  are  halted,  this  time  by  a  wedding  proces- 
sion, headed  by  a  dozen  men  carrying  a  number  of  huge 
golden  drums  and  very  large  horns,  the  latter  of  wooden 
gilt.  Then  came  the  bride  in  a  most  elaborate  chair, 
carried  by  six  men  dressed  in  red,  wearing  high  head- 
gear. She  was  not  visible,  but  her  gaily  colored,  painted 
box,  with  red  lacquer  and  paper  panels  and  its  gilt  roof, 
was  certainly  imposing.  Two  other  chairs  followed  the 
one  bearing  the  bride,  but  these  chairs  were  not  so  gay 
in  color  or  design.  One  contained  her  mother-in-law-to- 
be  and  the  other  her  own  mother.  This  constituted  her 
personal  escort  to  accompany  her  to  her  future  hus- 


io6  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

band's  home  where  he  awaited  her.  The  procession  was 
marked  by  gay  flags  and  streamers  of  bright  colors, 
borne  by  numerous  men  and  boys. 

Our  trip  to  the  Winter  Palace  will  long  be  remem- 
bered. We  found  the  morning  air  very  cold,  as  the  sun 
had  not  yet  come  out,  and  a  light  wind  was  blowing. 
Our  rickshaw  boys  kept  up  a  dog  trot,  taking  us  over 
the  ground  at  not  less  than  six  miles  an  hour,  which  in- 
creased the  coldness  as  we  traveled  against  the  wind, 
especially  noticeable  in  this  icy  air. 

The  Winter  Palace  is  situated  in  the  Imperial  City  of 
Peking,  consisting  of  many  beautifully  painted,  artisti- 
cally designed  pavilions  approached  across  inland  lakes 
and  ponds  over  handsome  marble  bridges.  It  is  here  the 
Emperor  Hsi  Yuan  came  to  enjoy  life  and  capably  rule 
his  people.  There  are  a  large  number  of  buildings,  such 
as  temples,  rest  houses,  theaters,  tea  houses,  palaces  for 
concubines,  etc.,  etc.  Overshadowed  by  all  and  at  the 
highest  point  of  ground  in  the  Imperial  compound  (500 
feet  high,  to  be  exact)  is  housed  the  image  of  the  Holy 
of  Holies,  the  great  Buddha  Emperor,  the  temple  or 
shrine  overlooking  Peking  from  its  lofty  rock  founda- 
tions. In  the  same  temple  there  is  said  to  be  an  image  of 
the  great  laughing  Buddha,  together  with  some  rare, 
old  and  sacred  documents  brought  here  many  centuries 
ago  from  Tibet,  on  the  occasion  of  the  first  introduction 
of  the  Buddhist  religion  into  China. 

Unfortunately  all  these  structures,  which  played  such 
an  important  part  in  the  reigning  dynasties  of  China  for 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  .    707 

ages,  are  permitted  to  go  to  wrack  and  ruin  very  fast, 
the  fees  exacted  for  visiting  them  being  far  too  inade- 
quate to  maintain  things  as  they  should  be  kept  up. 
The  Government  of  the  Republic  flatly  refuses  to  spend 
the  people's  money  for  supporting  these  relics  of  a  by- 
gone age  and  generation.  The  young  Emperor,  a  boy  of 
fourteen,  occupies  one  of  the  buildings  as  a  palace,  his 
mother  and  a  corps  of  instructors  being  with  him.  He 
rarely  is  outside  of  his  home,  and  then  only  in  the  palace 
grounds  and  at  night.  The  President  of  the  Republic 
makes  his  home  just  outside  of  the  Palace  grounds.  It 
all  seems  so  very  sad,  and  I  cannot  help  wishing  that  if 
some  one  or  several  of  the  powerful  foreign  nations 
could  only  be  big  and  unselfish  enough  to  disinter- 
estedly lend  a  guiding  hand  (and  if  China  could  be  per- 
suaded to  believe  that  such  help  is  honest  and  disin- 
terested) in  the  affairs  of  this  big  giantess  who  finds  her- 
self at  present,  like  Gulliver,  tied  down  by  the  midgets 
(in  this  case  the  Japanese)  she  might  yet  be  saved,  in 
fact  if  China  could  be  made  to  realize  her  own  strength, 
that  country  would  soon  be  put  upon  its  feet  again. 
What  a  distinct  gain  to  the  whole  world  and  to  civiliza- 
tion the  realization  of  this  dream  would  be ! 

The  Chinese  are  such  a  fine  race  of  straight  men,  with 
eyes  that  have  seen  sights — long  before  the  rest  of  the 
world  developed  an  eye —  with  a  brain  back  of  them. 
At  times  I  feel  convinced  the  nation  is  sleeping,  and  the 
pendulum  has  swung  back  after  having  previously  gone 
in  the  other  direction,  pushing  ahead  while  we  were  yet 


io8  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

unborn.  So  while  they  sleep,  the  rest  of  mankind  has 
awakened  and  is  the  thief  in  the  night,  stealing  all  the 
treasures  and  ideas  of  this  sleeping  giantess.  What  sort 
of  an  alarm  clock  will  finally  waken  her?  And  when 
awake,  what  will  she  do  with  herself  and  to  the  world 
she  will  find? 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  tog 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

r  I  ^HE  Wagon-Lits  Hotel  is  nothing  like  any  other 
-L  hotel  at  which  you  have  ever  stayed.  Our  rooms 
are  bright  and  cheery,  but  the  office,  tea  room  and  din- 
ing room,  not  to  mention  its  breakfast  room,  being 
miles  away  from  the  centre  of  things,  impressed  me  like 
the  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta  as  I  sped  along  its  many 
dark  and  crooked  passages.  I  am  reminded  of  Mark 
Twain's  story  of  Huckleberry  Finn  where  Tom  Sawyer, 
in  going  through  a  cave,  carries  a  ball  of  string  with  him, 
having  previously  fastened  one  end  of  it  at  the  entrance 
and  unraveling  it  as  he  goes  along.  When  ready  to  re- 
trace his  steps,  he  simply  rolls  up  his  ball  of  string. 
How  I  wished  for  that  string,  as  I  invariably  felt  myself 
getting  lost  on  my  way  to  and  from  breakfast.  In  these 
dark,  dismal  corridors  are  little  booths  or  stands,  where 
native  merchants  display  their  goods,  embroideries, 
jade  ornaments,  agates  and  other  stones,  rugs  and  bits 
of  old  ivory.  Startling  you,  these  silent  creatures  sud- 
denly emerge  from  the  darkness  and  place  a  Buddha,  a 
string  of  beads,  or  a  fancy  pair  of  buckles  in  a  tempting 
manner  before  you,  asking  if  given  the  least  encourage- 
ment: "Missie,  you  like?  What  you  pay?"  "What  is  the 
price?"  you  ask.  "Only  ten  dollars."  "Give  you  one 
dollar,"  and  if  you  stick  to  it,  you  will  likely  secure  it 


no  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

at  your  price;  they  do  seem  to  enjoy  bargaining  as  the 
purchaser  seems  to  enjoy  getting  something  for  less  than 
he  was  asked  for  it.  But  waste  no  sympathy  on  these 
quiet,  persistent  merchants  who  are  beaten  down  on 
their  prices,  for  they  by  no  means  come  out  at  the 
wrong  end  of  the  horn.  That  would  not  be  oriental  trad- 
ing instinct — and  the  merchants  of  Peking  most  cer- 
tainly have  that  quality  developed  to  the  highest 
degree. 

Frances  has  a  rickshaw  boy  who  speaks  a  little  and 
understands  much  English,  so  she  and  I  went  shopping 
with  his  assistance  this  morning  and  got  along  beauti- 
fully, it  being  more  of  a  trip  to  reconnoitre  than  to  close 
bargains.  Later  we  were  joined  by  our  husbands,  and 
our  expedition  took  us  to  the  Chinese  City  through  Jade 
Street  and  Porcelain  Street.  These  narrow  thoroughfares 
are  filled  with  shops  on  both  sides  of  the  street,  the 
salesroom  facing  the  street  being  in  part  a  passageway 
to  other  salesrooms  in  the  rear,  sometimes  three  and 
four  of  them,  arranged  in  squares  or  U  shaped,  with  a 
court  or  garden  in  the  centre. 

The  jade  trees  are  especially  lovely  and  attractive. 
At  one  of  the  old  establishments  I  found  the  image  of 
a  fine  old  temple  saint,  "Kwan-yin"  the  favorite  god- 
dess of  expectant  and  would-be  mothers.  It  is  a  lovely 
piece  of  bronze  with  gold  leaf  over  it,  dating  back  to 
1470 — 450  years  ago —  the  figure  is  draped,  the  robe 
having  a  pattern  around  the  neck  and  sleeves.  It  has  a 
high  head  dress,  the  image  measuring  about  eleven 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  iff 

inches  in  height.  An  infant  figure  is  in  her  hands.  It  was 
to  my  mind  a  very  unusual  piece. 

On  wending  our  way  from  Jade  Street  into  Curio 
Street,  we  were  stopped,  fortunately  as  it  turned  out, 
to  see  a  No.  I  funeral.  It  was  headed  by  a  Taoist  priest 
with  a  very  extensive  escort,  then  came  the  gold  drums 
and  fife-like  instruments,  all  attired  in  bright  colors,  the 
priest  and  his  satellites  wearing  rich  embroideries. 
Little  girls  all  in  white  proved  to  be  the  daughters  of 
the  deceased,  they  being  followed  by  about  twenty 
ragamuffins  carrying  banners.  These  are  the  war  spirits, 
and  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  intentional  or  not,  but 
the  fact  remains  that  some  of  these  youngsters  were 
fighting  and  scrapping  with  one  another.  Next  came 
men  carrying  huge  papier-mache  figures,  life-sized 
women,  representing  his  wife  and  servants;  two  cats  on 
a  tray;  his  library  chair,  his  mountain  chair,  his  Peking 
cart,  and  finally  a  large  supply  of  food.  All  these  to  be 
buried  with  the  remains,  so  his  soul  would  lack  neither 
attendance  nor  the  other  necessities  and  comforts  which 
contributed  to  his  well  being  in  his  lifetime.  Later  came 
the  surviving  widow  in  her  chair,  all  clad  in  white,  in- 
cluding a  white  crepe  veil  concealing  her  face.  Her 
chair,  of  solid  white  color,  was  borne  by  six  men,  fol- 
lowed by  a  score  or  more  of  Buddhist  priests,  all  singing 
or  chanting.  They  preceded  the  funeral  car,  which 
proved  to  be  a  most  imposing  affair  for  conveying  the 
huge  coffin.  It  was  canopylike,  about  20  feet  in  height, 
easily  18  feet  long,  richly  decorated  with  red  embroid- 


H2  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

ery.  It  required  30  men  to  carry  it  with  its  load. 
Throughout  this  funeral  procession  uniformed  attend- 
ants were  throwing  perforated  paper  discs  to  the  winds, 
this  representing  money  to  appease  the  spirits  and 
pave  the  way  to  heaven  for  the  soul  of  the  departed. 
At  the  end  were  the  mourners,  both  men  and  women, 
riding  in  their  picturesque  Peking  carts,  all  wearing 
white  flowers,  the  sign  of  mourning. 

One  of  the  carts  caught  my  rickshaw  wheel,  and  it 
looked  for  a  moment  as  though  there  might  be  another 
funeral  with  me  as  the  centre  of  interest,  but  owing  to 
the  shrill,  frightened  voice  of  my  boy,  who  set  up  a 
howl  calculated  to  awaken  the  passing  dead,  he  man- 
aged to  stop  the  moving  festivities  long  enough  to  dis- 
entangle hubs  and  gear,  thus  setting  me  free  and  letting 
funeral  and  our  party  go  their  respective  ways  again. 

Funerals  seem  to  be  my  specialty,  for  today  was  a 
wonderful  one.  Pye,  our  guide,  is  authority  for  declaring 
that  the  Emperor  himself  (were  a  dynasty  ruling)  or  the 
Llama  of  Tibet  are  the  only  personages  that  would 
command  a  more  elaborate  ceremony  than  the  one  we 
witnessed  in  the  streets  today.  A  descendant  of  the 
great  Confucius — in  a  very  direct  line — was  the  central 
figure,  his  funeral  car  being  distinguished  by  a  huge 
gold  ball  in  addition  to  other  evidences  of  extraordinary 
richness  in  trappings  and  furnishings.  1 80  men  bore  this 
enormous  funeral  car  on  their  shoulders.  It  measured 
over  150  feet  in  length,  was  about  50  feet  high  and  must 
have  been  of  prodigious  weight,  including  the  coffin  and 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  113 

the  remains.  The  covering  was  red  and  purple  silk,  with 
ropes  covered  with  purple  silk,  giving  the  effect  of  silken 
cords.  No  embroidered  covering,  as  in  the  case  of  a 
Taoist  or  Buddhist  funeral.  His  little  son,  a  child  of  six, 
was  carried  in  the  arms  of  a  man,  the  former  dressed  in 
white  with  a  white  crepe  veil  over  his  head  on  which  he 
wore  a  cap.  Following  him  came  a  cage  containing  a 
wonderful  white  cock,  having  a  tail  of  extraordinary 
length.  This  bird  will  be  buried  alive  beside  its  former 
master,  so  as  to  accompany  him  for  the  purpose  of  call- 
ing him  the  first  morning  when  he  finds  himself  in  his 
heavenly  home,  and  to  perform  the  same  function  there- 
after. Next  came  a  long  line  of  servants,  carrying  papier- 
mache  counterparts  or  images  of  themselves,  to  be  in 
attendance  upon  their  master  without  break  or  inter- 
ruption. Strange  and  curious  indeed  are  these  life-size 
figures,  each  bearing  some  symbol  of  their  occupation. 
I  was  much  amused  at  the  combination  of  the  old  fun- 
eral usages  and  customs  staged  with  modern  appliances 
as,  for  instance,  the  servant  figure  carrying  a  thermos 
bottle.  Another  bore  a  high  silk  hat  of  pronounced  old 
vintage,  still  another  had  a  suit  of  foreign  men's  clothes, 
while  yet  another  had  his  mandarin  clothes,  very  hand- 
some, including  the  round  cap  with  its  cherry-red  top 
knot.  Then  too,  there  were  beautiful  robes  of  yellow  and 
purple,  and  other  garments  of  rare  taste;  the  books  he 
doubtless  loved;  also  his  desk  and  its  writing  materials. 
Even  his  favorite  horse,  reproduced  in  papier-mache 
and  mounted  on  wheels,  was  pushed  along  by  his 


114  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

grooms.  The  Peking  cart,  his  comfortable  chair  and  his 
guns — these  were  represented  by  the  real  articles — like- 
wise made  up  the  impressive  procession.  Buddhist 
priests  in  goodly  numbers  walked  beside  the  funeral  car, 
with  low  voices  chanting  prayers  for  the  dead  that 
sounded  curiously  like  the  Roman  Catholic  service,  ac- 
companied by  the  striking  of  gongs  and  the  blowing  of 
deep-toned  horns,  huge  gilded  wood  instruments,  man- 
aged by  three  men.  A  big  man  completely  dressed  in 
white  robes  scattered  make-believe  money,  little  paper 
discs — which  his  companion,  another  chap  similarly 
robed,  carried,  the  idea  being  to  pay  your  way  into 
heaven.  It  is  said  to  be  the  best  of  luck  to  have  a  piece 
of  this  "money"  land  on  your  head,  and  by  that  token 
I  am  to  be  most  fortunate,  as  I  am  the  proud  possessor 
of  a  disc  from  this  funeral  that  I  picked  out  of  my  hair. 
This  distributor  of  wealth  is  said  to  make  a  good  living, 
as  he  enjoys  a  sort  of  monoply  of  this  particular  job, 
officiating  in  the  same  capacity  at  some  funeral  almost 
daily.  He  is  the  champion  money-thrower  in  Peking. 

A  special  train  awaited  the  remains  of  this  distin- 
guished descendant  of  Confucius  so  that  they  might, 
accompanied  by  his  bereaved  family  and  friends,  be 
transported  to  that  province  in  Manchuria  where  rest 
the  other  dead  directly  connected  by  kinship  with  the 
illustrious  sage.  The  President  of  the  Republic  saw  fit 
to  send  his  special  military  band,  an  unusual  mark  of 
honor.  We  deemed  ourselves  particularly  fortunate  to 
happen  along  to  witness  all  this,  for  not  in  years  has 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  115 

Peking  seen  so  elaborate  a  funeral — in  fact  not  in  a 
decade's  time,  and  that  was  the  funeral  of  the  Grand 
Llama  of  Tibet. 


n6  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

CONFUCIANISM  is  distinctly  a  homely  philos- 
ophy, essentially  belonging  to  the  family  and  con- 
tributing to  a  substantial,  clean  mode  of  living.  When 
Confucius  taught  his  philosophy,  or  disseminated  his 
wisdom,  he  took  a  people  into  his  care  that  was  so  young 
in  its  knowledge  of  right  and  wrong  that  he  had  to  teach 
them  what  justice  and  decent  living  consisted  of.  He 
taught  them  to  be  clean  by  washing,  to  cook  food,  to 
catch  fish  in  nets;  above  all,  to  honor  their  forefathers 
and  in  so  doing  they  would  be  less  likely  to  do  evil, 
knowing  that  their  dead  ancestors  could  see  and  grieve 
over  any  such  misdeeds.  This  custom  and  deep-seated 
desire  to  worship  one's  parents,  and  in  return  later  to  be 
worshipped  by  one's  own  children,  imparted  a  strong 
incentive  to  live  a  good  life,  to  perform  good  deeds. 
Confucianism  flourished  for  500  years  when  Taoism  ap- 
peared, dealing  more  freely  with  the  mysteries  of  nature 
and  employing  means  that  are  decidedly  on  the  side  of 
occultism.  Every  rice  paddy  field  possesses  a  spirit  or 
"fengshui"  that  brings  either  good  or  bad,  and  must  be 
prayed  to,  or  sacrifice  offered  up  to  it  in  the  form  of  food 
and  drink,  or  in  the  shape  of  burning  incense.  The  wind, 
rain,  sun,  snows,  likewise  the  temple,  the  cemetery,  the 
home — all  have  their  special  spirits  or  "fengshui"  from 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  7/7 

whom  special  favors  are  asked  through  the  medium  of 
prayer. 

These  spirits  or  deities  are  discernible  in  all  their 
primitive  art,  and  as  a  result  of  their  frequent  reproduc- 
tion in  this  way,  they  have  become  a  part  of  the  very 
life  of  the  modern  Chinese.  So  much  so  that,  finding  one- 
self unlucky,  a  prayer  to  the  appropriate  spirit  is  re- 
sorted to,  and  the  needful  change  in  one's  fortune  is 
awaited.  A  case  was  told  me  where  a  village  had  been 
afBicted  with  an  epidemic  of  a  disease  that  was  fatal  to 
children.  One  of  the  lads  of  this  village  was  accused  of 
harboring  the  spirit  that  was  working  such  harm  in  the 
community,  and  heroic  and  prompt  action  was  deter- 
mined upon.  The  suspected  youngster's  head  was  cut 
off"  and  left  in  the  open  road  for  hours  for  the  purpose  of 
satisfying  the  cravings  of  the  bad  spirit  who  had  caused 
the  illness  and  death  of  so  many.  They  believed  after  so 
great  a  sacrifice  of  human  blood,  the  bad  spirit  would 
leave  them  in  peace. 

Buddhism  came  to  China  from  India  and  Tibet,  de- 
veloping a  side  of  the  Chinese  not  hitherto  touched,  as 
it  taught  the  qualities  of  the  individual  soul  and  by 
knowing  thyself  a  high  spiritual  development  was  at- 
tainable. This  code  of  laws  and  beliefs  is  directly  the 
opposite  of  the  teachings  of  Confucius.  The  later  taught 
bodily  comforts,  Buddha  taught  self-sacrifice.  A  Lama 
priest  would  go  to  the  mountains,  live  on  nuts  and 
fruits,  clothe  himself  in  material  made  from  grasses,  and 
with  his  begging  bowl  and  staff  become  an  outcast  upon 


u8  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

the  face  of  the  world.  Giving  up  all  earthly  comforts,  he 
would  seek  the  soul  life  through  hard  and  suffering  self- 
denial,  realizing  the  nothingness  of  the  present  life. 

Buddhism  and  Taoism  have  much  in  combination, 
each  borrowing  from  or  imitating  one  another  in  count- 
less features.  Buddhism  was  not  designed  to  supplant  or 
overthrow  local  creeds  or  customs,  at  the  most  it  some- 
times softened  and  humanized  them.  An  instance  is  the 
substitution  of  paper  images  at  funerals  for  live  animals 
and  human  beings  as  objects  of  sacrifice. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  119 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AS  Christmas  draws  near  my  thoughts  fly  across  the 
,/A.big  wet  spot,  alias  the  Pacific  Ocean,  where  my  dear 
ones  are,  and  two  little  wet  spots,  otherwise  my  eyes, 
become  very  troublesome.  Would  that  I  could  go  to 
sleep  and  not  wake  up  until  January  2,  1920,  with  the 
holidays  past  and  gone.  For  I  don't  like  being  so  far 
away  on  this  homey  day  of  all  days  in  the  year.  I  feel 
and  know  you  will  be  thinking  of  us  wanderers,  as  we 
surely  will  be  thinking  of  you. 

Today  we  did  enjoy  going  to  tiffin  at  Mr.  Willing 
Spencer's.  He  is  the  First  Secretary  of  the  U.  S.  Lega- 
tion at  Peking,  and  it  was  a  joy  to  be  brought  in  touch 
with  real  home  life.  It  helped  to  warm  up  our  holiday- 
homesick  hearts  for  at  least  one  day.  His  home  is  a  mix- 
ture of  East  and  West,  containing  the  comforts  of  an 
American  household  side  by  side  with  the  artistic  ob- 
jects gathered  in  the  Orient.  Two  Chinese  men  servants 
in  long  blue  silk  robes  with  red  sashes  and  red  tasseled 
round  caps  ushered  us  into  the  drawing-room  where  our 
host  and  his  attractive  mother  awaited  us.  A  big  open 
fire  was  crackling  away  on  an  hospitable  hearth,  with  a 
friendly  dog  beating  his  tail  upon  the  rug,  his  nose  rest- 
ing on  the  fender.  Mr.  Spencer  extended  a  welcome, 
making  us  feel  glad  we  had  come.  A  delightful  tiffin 


120  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

ensued,  where  we  matched  up  stories  of  experiences  in 
strange  and  remote  corners  of  the  globe,  using  our  lim- 
ited resources  against  those  of  the  young  diplomat  who 
was  entertaining  us,  and  who  had  held  during  his  career 
a  number  of  important  posts  in  far  away  South  America, 
as  well  as  in  the  most  interesting  capitals  of  Europe  and 
Asia.  It  proved  a  very  interesting  game. 

Our  trip  to  the  Vale  of  Kashmir  a  few  years  ago  gave 
us  a  little  prestige  in  the  discussion,  for  we  were  the  only 
ones  present  having  been  so  favored.  Naturally  we 
found  we  had  mutual  friends  tucked  away  in  distant 
lands,  making  the  promise  of  this  new  friendship  all  the 
stronger  for  the  mutual  love  we  had  for  them.  What  a 
wonderful  thing  love  is!  In  all  its  forms,  from  the  very 
highest  to  the  lowest — all  is  good — and  the  most  perfect 
thing  we  have  on  earth.  I  can  hear  some  wise  one  say 
that  love  has  no  lowest  form.  I  refer  to  a  love  such  as  I  wit- 
nessed on  the  street  of  the  Tartar  City  in  Peking  today: 

A  baby  camel  was  running  along  by  the  side  of  its 
mother,  the  latter  tied  to  the  camel  ahead  and  the  one 
behind  it,  this  particular  caravan  having  eight  such 
animals,  proceeding  in  single  file  all  tied  together,  bound 
with  their  loads  for  Mongolia  and  the  distant  lands  be- 
yond. The  baby  camel,  not  being  tied,  had  strayed  to 
one  side  of  the  road  where  a  big  dog  barked  at  the  heels 
of  the  youngster  and  unmistakably  frightened  him. 
Mother  camel  made  a  swift  rush  for  the  dog,  unmindful 
of  the  fastenings  fore  and  aft,  which  quite  upset  the  line 
of  march  of  these  stately  beasts  and  required  some  time 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  121 

and  skillful  handling  to  straighten  out.  Not  until  a  rope 
muzzle  had  been  slipped  over  the  mother's  mouth  would 
a  camel  driver  go  near  the  enraged  beast.  To  finally 
quiet  her  it  was  necessary  to  bring  baby  to  her  parent's 
side  so  that  she  could  be  caressed  with  loving  little  nips 
up  and  down  that  back  of  humps,  when  all  was  we'll  and 
the  interrupted  march  was  resumed  with  an  "all  aboard 
for  Mongolia,"  so  away  they  went.  You  can  call  it  what 
you  may,  high  or  low  form  of  love — it  was  Love  just 
the  same. 

R.  and  I  have  been  "trinketing"  again,  and  I  re- 
turned with  the  most  adorable  piece  of  yellow  brocaded 
silk  for  an  evening  coat — also  some  fur  for  the  collar  and 
cuffs,  which  is  nothing  else  than  Mongolian  cat.  Yes,  I 
mean  CAT.  These  tabbies  of  the  North  China  wilds 
have  lovely  sable  brown  pelts  of  great  softness,  much 
like  the  Hudson  Bay  sables.  I  paid  $3.00  per  skin.  Had 
we  tried  to  obtain  them  on  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York, 
they  would  have  been  re-christened  and  designated  by 
some  fancy,  high-sounding  name  and  a  price  would  have 
been  asked  to  correspond.  I  am  so  very  glad  these 
"kitties"  are  going  to  grace  an  evening  coat,  for  I  feel 
their  ghosts  may  serve  to  keep  me  awake,  I  being  such 
a  sleepy  head  and  cats  so  accustomed  to  being  out  all 
night.  But  I  fear  it  will  take  more  than  $12.00  worth  of 
feline  atmosphere  to  overcome  my  old  habit  of  early-to- 
bed  with  a  good  book  and  "comfy  downy,"  while  the 
rest  of  my  friends  are  wondering  where  and  when  next 
they  can  go  after  dinner,  theater  or  opera. 


122  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

The  Biffys  are  making  plans  and  trying  to  get  a  ship 
to  India.  From  the  discouraging  reports  given  them  by 
Thos.  Cook  &  Son,  you  might  think  that  everybody, 
including  his  wife  and  child,  is  traveling  in  these  parts. 
No  bookings  available  for  months  to  come,  is  the  infor- 
mation one  gets  on  every  hand,  but  of  course  there  are 
bound  to  be  cancellations  at  the  eleventh  hour  so  that 
a  proper  cabin  can  be  had,  the  uncertainty  of  wondering 
how,  when,  and  where  to  go,  only  adding  to  the  thrill 
and  increasing  the  interest  accordingly. 

Meanwhile  we  are  seeing  sights  and  hugely  enjoying 
old  Peking  with  its  walled  cities  within  walls,  to  the  ut- 
most degree.  The  Lama  temple  and  its  services  will  long 
be  remembered.  We  took  our  rickshaws  to  the  gates  of 
the  Tartar  City  and  a  short  distance  beyond,  where 
stands  the  imposing  edifice  surrounded  by  a  vast  num- 
ber of  buildings  in  which  dwell  thousands  of  Manchur- 
ians  and  other  northern  tribes,  still  loyal  to  the  Budd- 
hist faith.  As  we  draw  near,  a  deep  gong  is  sounding  its 
low  vibrant  notes  that  seem  to  put  the  very  earth  under 
your  feet  and  make  you  fairly  tingle.  It  was  five  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  as  we  stepped  through  the  gate  leading 
into  the  Compound,  where  we  saw  priests  and  small 
boys  swarming  in  great  numbers  out  of  the  several  mon- 
astery buildings  that  faced  the  square  in  the  Compound. 
Each  stroke  of  the  gong  seemed  to  bring  fresh  relays  of 
priests  and  lads,  the  latter  laughingly  running  towards 
the  bell  tower  to  secure  a  small  piece  of  a  numbered 
wooden  check,  each  check  bearing  the  name  of  the  boy 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  123 

to  whom  it  belongs.  Those  remaining  uncalled  for  tell 
their  own  story  of  the  slackers.  These  boys,  most  of 
them  originally  sickly  children,  have  been  presented  to 
the  temple  by  their  parents  as  an  offering  to  Buddha,  in 
the  belief  that  it  will  benefit  them,  the  parents,  to  give 
a  life  to  Buddha,  reasoning  doubtless  that  a  sickly  body 
would  not  have  long  to  live  in  any  case.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  boys  spend  their  dedicated  lives  in  the  monas- 
tery, they  never  marry,  and  money  must  never  cross 
their  hands.  A  life  of  study  and  prayer  is  theirs  with  the 
highest  ambition  of  some  day  becoming  a  living  Buddha, 
or  a  High  Priest.  Like  the  priests,  they  wear  yellow 
robes,  in  many  cases  all  in  rags  and  tatters  and  dread- 
fully dirty.  All  heads  are  shaved  to  the  point  of  baldness. 

We  followed  this  cheery  crowd  of  worshippers  and 
soon  found  ourselves  in  the  Temple.  The  priests  and 
boys  seated  themselves  on  low  benches  with  prayer- 
table  in  front,  similar  to  pews  in  our  churches,  facing  the 
altar  or  shrine.  There  were  about  fifty  long  rows  of  these 
seats.  The  altar  was  made  of  Cloissone  with  a  large 
golden  Buddha  in  the  center,  holding  some  relics  of 
Buddha — it  is  stated,  a  few  of  his  bones.  (Buddha  must 
have  been  a  very  bony  person,  I  fear,  if  all  the  bones  I 
have  seen  in  China,  India  and  Burma  once  made  up  his 
earthly  body!) 

The  services  began  as  the  head  priest  donned  his 
robes  and  high  hat.  An  assistant  priest  or  acolyte  at 
once  prepares  to  place  some  food  in  a  lacquer  box  which 
is  passed  on  to  the  head  priest.  He  holds  it,  with  lifted 


124  NEff  YORK  TO  PEKING 

robe,  high  over  his  head  and  then  personally  carries  it 
out  of  the  Temple  where  supposedly  it  is  given  to  the 
poor.  He  thereupon  returns  and  all  present — priests  and 
boys — are  diligently  chanting  prayers,  sounding  exactly 
like  the  litanies  in  the  Roman  Catholic  service,  the 
young  voices  of  the  boys  blending  in  well  with  the  deeper 
tones  of  the  men. 

The  large  image  of  Buddha  carries  a  piece  of  yellow 
silk  in  his  hand,  denoting  that  the  Grand  Lama  of  Tibet 
had  visited  this  Temple,  in  fact  he  died  on  this  spot,  the 
chair  in  which  he  passed  on  being  a  relic  and  treated 
with  great  reverence.  Am  not  at  all  surprised  at  his  hav- 
ing died  while  at  services,  for  never  have  you  known 
such  a  cold,  chilling  place. 

We  were  attracted  by  the  many  pigeons  that  were 
flying  high  above  the  bell  tower,  and  as  they  flew  a 
pretty  musical  sound  came  from  their  wings,  It  seems 
they  live  in  the  bell  tower  and  when  the  mighty  gong 
is  struck  they  fly  out,  causing  a  startling  effect  as  they 
circle  in  great  numbers.  Each  pigeon  has  a  whistle  fast- 
ened to  its  tail  feathers,  the  notes  of  the  whistles  being 
tuned  to  a  chord,  so  as  they  fly  and  the  wind  passes 
through  their  tail  feathers  a  sweet  sound  is  heard,  tune- 
ful and  pleasing  indeed.  They  describe  huge  circles  over 
the  Tartar  City,  thereby  calling  the  faithful  to  their 
prayers  and  devotions. 

The  candles,  the  incense  burning  and  the  chanting 
in  Latin,  as  also  the  sounding  of  gongs  makes  one 
wonder  if  the  Roman  Catholic  forms  could  have  had 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  125 

their  origin  in  copying  the  service  from  this  older  form 
of  religion. 

Our  homeward  ride  was  marked  by  quiet  and  reflec- 
tion as  we  rickshawed  in  the  dusk,  and  I  am  quite  sure 
each  one  of  us  was  pondering  how  true  it  was  that,  after 
all,  there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun.  And  more  than 
that,  what  does  it  all  mean? 


126  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

OH,  this  city  of  Peking  is  like  no  other  I  have  ever 
seen  before.  Great  walls  enclosing  smaller  walled 
sections,  and  upon  entering  each  you  find  quite  a  differ- 
ent life  and  people.  I  was  attracted  by  the  street  criers 
and  the  great  variety  of  their  calls.  When  your  soul  is 
startled  by  a  fierce  yell  and  you  are  certain  it  can  only 
be  murder  in  the  first  degree,  you  instinctively  look  for 
the  lost  one  appealing  for  help,  only  to  find  it  is  the  man 
selling  his  sweet  potatoes — wonderful  steaming  tubers, 
baked  en  route  in  some  mysterious  way — forming  the 
principal  diet  of  our  rickshaw  boys.  Another  cry  is  noth- 
ing less  than  a  scream  denoting  "Old  clothes  to  sell," 
emitted  by  a  vendor  carrying  two  gaily  lacquered  boxes 
on  either  end  of  a  long  bamboo  pole,  resting  horizontally 
on  the  man's  shoulders.  These  boxes  suggest  big  covered 
tubs,  but  with  their  loud  colors  add  much  to  the  bright- 
ness of  the  street  scene.  Then  comes  the  barber,  carrying 
a  pair  of  iron  tongs  which  he  strikes  together  to  an- 
nounce his  arrival  with  his  utensils  on  his  back.  When 
he  secures  a  customer,  the  operation  is  performed  on  the 
sidewalk  where  men  are  shaved  and  otherwise  barbered 
in  full  view  of  all  that  pass.  Another  strange  street  cry 
or  signal  is  that  of  the  cutlery  man  who  sharpens  knives 
and  scissors,  informing  you  of  his  approach  by  striking 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  127 

three  steel  hinge-like  pieces  together,  at  almost  every 
step  he  takes,  A  simple  little  street  cry  is  that  of  the 
charcoal  man  who  strikes  his  tiny  little  drum,  about  the 
size  of  a  silver  dollar,  with  a  rat-a-tat  as  he  wends  his 
way.  The  carpet  weaver  stands  and  screams  three  short 
notes  of  the  same  tone.  He  carries  a  staff  with  a  bunch 
of  wool  on  either  end  of  the  staff  to  be  equipped  to  mend 
as  well  as  to  weave  rugs  and  carpets.  The  sweetman 
invariably  has  a  mob  of  children  after  him,  making  his 
presence  known  by  striking  brass  cymbals.  His  stock 
in  trade  is  a  pack,  bright  colored  and  bedecked,  com- 
prising candies  and  other  goodies — some  of  then  resem- 
bling sugared  plums  on  the  end  of  a  stick.  We  call  the 
latter  all-day-suckers  in  the  U.  S.  A.,  and  every  child 
seems  to  delight  in  them,  irrespective  of  race  or  color. 
The  beef  seller  has  a  wild  and  weird  call,  that  apparently 
wields  an  occult  effect  on  dogs,  for  they  certainly  as- 
semble from  all  directions  when  his  voice  is  heard.  The 
fried-cake  man  is  greatly  in  demand  and  seems  to  be 
frying  doughnuts  at  all  times  of  the  day.  He  utters  no 
call  himself,  as  the  boiling  lard  no  doubt  requires  his 
undivided  attention,  so  he  employs  a  small  boy  to  cry 
for  him. 

Besides  these  types — and  I  have  not  touched  upon 
dozens  of  others  one  encounters — there  is  in  evidence 
the  grand  looking  old  mandarins,  most  of  them  with 
their  heads  high,  some  of  them  with  swinging  bird  cages 
in  hand.  These  men  take  their  birds  out  for  an  airing,  as 
we  would  exercise  our  dogs.  Birds  are  valuable  here,  and 


ia8  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

a  good  one,  singing  well,  will  command  $50.00  to  $100.00 
which  is  considerably  more  than  the  cost  of  a  good  don- 
key or  camel.  The  bird  cages  have  neatly  fitted  covers 
of  wadded  silk  to  protect  their  feathery  inmates  from 
cold  and  drafts.  Their  owners,  principally  ex-noblemen, 
smoke  a  long  pipe  with  jade  bowl  and  mouthpiece,  ap- 
pearing rather  sad  and  dejected  and  manifestly  "down 
on  their  luck."  The  present  government  does  not  allow 
the  Emperor  a  sufficient  annuity  to  maintain  these 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  court  favorites — mostly 
Manchus  or  Mandarins — in  their  former  state  of  luxury 
and  ease,  consequently  they  are  dreadfully  poor.  Most 
of  them  have  never  done  any  work,  and  as  an  indication 
of  their  contempt  for  it,  permitted  their  finger  nails  to 
grow  to  inordinate  length — two  and  three  inches.  You 
cannot  help  but  feel  sorry  for  them,  just  as  you  are 
bound  to  sympathize  with  the  Central  and  South  China 
women  with  their  tiny  feet  (lillies)  although  the  old  cus- 
tom of  binding  the  feet  of  girl  babies  is  forbidden  by  law 
and  is  gradually  being  abolished.  So  it  is  only  the  older 
women  one  sees  stumping  along  on  feet  measuring  2^ 
to  3  inches,  in  some  cases  requiring  the  assistance  of  a 
person  on  each  side  of  them  to  make  it  possible  to  navi- 
gate along  uneven  surfaces.  These  unfortunate  grande 
dames  (for  this  custom  only  applied  to  the  supposedly 
wealthy)  give  the  appearance  of  walking  on  stumps  or 
stilts. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  i29 


CHAPTER  XXX 

IMAGINE  our  delight  on  opening  our  eyes  this  par- 
ticular December  morning  to  discover  a  world  of 
loveliness.  Good  old  Jack  Frost  had  been  extremely  busy 
all  night  long,  dressing  up  each  tiny  twig,  branch,  hence 
every  tree,  with  the  most  marvelous  laces  from  Mother 
Nature's  attic  containing  an  over-abundant  supply.  As 
we  look  over  the  Legation  Quarter  wall  a  scene  greets 
us  suggesting  wash  day  in  fairyland,  with  the  dainty  ap- 
parel of  the  inhabitants  hanging  out  to  dry.  The  hoar 
frost  was  festooned  and  looped  in  every  conceivable  de- 
sign, beautiful  beyond  words.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was 
stirring,  presenting  a  dreamlike  picture  against  the 
leaden  sky  of  steel  gray,  making  the  frilly  gardens  a  real 
joy  to  see  and  contemplate.  We  stood  at  our  windows 
peering  out  speechless,  and  when  we  finally  found  our 
words  they  were  hushed  and  breathy — so  deeply  awed 
were  we  with  the  spirituality  of  it  all.  Even  the  chat- 
tering rickshaw  boys,  in  the  public  rickshaw  stand  be- 
neath our  windows,  were  for  once  quiet  over  their  chow. 
The  spirit  of  the  scene  had  evidently  touched  them  too. 
So  there  we  stood  in  silence  as  the  glorious  sun  came  up, 
turning  the  gray  to  gold,  bringing  a  rose  warm  tint  that 
made  us  feel  very  commonplace  and  ugly.  Just  then  we 
were  reminded  of  our  every  day  world  by  the  click  of 


fjo  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

our  China  boy's  shoes  on  the  hardwood  floor,  bringing 
us  back  to  the  realization  of  our  own  unimportance  in 
general,  and  to  applying  ourselves  to  a  steaming  hot  pot 
of  coffee  and  a  bit  of  toast  in  particular. 

We  had  almost  forgotten  that  this  was  the  morning 
fixed  for  our  going  to  the  Summer  Palace,  hence  this 
"chota  hazri"  as  we  say  in  India,  in  referring  to  an  early 
breakfast. 

Our  drive  to  the  Palace  is  scheduled  to  be  taken  in  an 
open  motor  car,  which  seems  fair  enough  for  a  visit  to  a 
summer  palace,  but  to  hear  our  boy  discussing  the  mul- 
tifarious preventatives  against  the  cold,  you  would  be 
certain  that  we  are  planning  a  dash  to  the  North  Pole, 
particularly  so  upon  contemplating  the  collection  of 
heavy  coats,  woolly  rugs  and  other  impedimenta  that 
eventually  adorned  and  surrounded  us.  I  declare  we 
looked  like  animated  hay  cocks  or  Christmas  plum 
puddings — steaming  quite  as  much  as  the  latter  are  sup- 
posed to  steam — for  our  boy  had  tucked  a  hot  water 
bottle  in  every  corner  and  crevice  of  the  car,  until  we 
felt  like  fireless  cookers  on  fire.  In  due  time,  alas!  the  hot 
water  turned  to  cold,  and  with  true  repentance  we  re- 
called how  we  had  contemptuously  scorned  the  heat 
that  now  seemed  wonderfully  welcome. 

Our  big  Chinese  chauffeur  was  an  autocrat,  if  ever 
there  was  one,  unquestionably  owning  the  road  and 
using  it  for  his  speed-mania  gratification.  He,  too,  was 
generously  fitted  out  with  top  coats,  which  accounted 
for  his  blissful  ignorance  of  the  many  pokes  we  admin- 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  131 

istered  as  we  gave  evidence  of  our  terrified  sensations 
when  our  lives  seemed  particularly  in  danger.  To  call  to 
him  was  useless,  for  if  he  possessed  ears  they  were  not 
visible  underneath  the  round  top  that  supposedly  en- 
circled the  dome  of  his  head.  I  hoped  and  prayed  that 
the  front  of  this  bundle  ahead  of  us  had  eyes  to  see,  as 
we  rushed  pell  mell  through  little  towns,  sending  pedes- 
trians fleeing  in  every  direction  along  with  the  dogs  and 
chickens.  The  poor  rickshaw  boys  were  compelled  to 
flatten  themselves  against  walls  and  look  to  their  vehi- 
cles as  best  they  could,  as  we  turned  corners  with  violent 
suddenness  and  at  break-neck  speed.  Leaving  a  bewild- 
ered crowd  behind  we  finally  reached  the  open  country, 
speeding  along  a  river  bank  where  the  willows,  still 
covered  with  frost,  were  weighed  down  with  their 
treasure. 

Luck  was  with  us,  for  the  Summer  Palace  and  incom- 
parable gardens  of  the  Dowager  Empress  were  wonder- 
fully bedecked  in  white  feathered  frost — a  most  inspir- 
ing sight  as  we  stood  before  the  magnificent  red  lacquer 
gates  and  began  to  dig  ourselves  out  of  our  car. 

Both  R.  and  I  are  tramps  by  nature,  so  we  were  keen 
to  explore  the  wonders  of  this  perfectly  lovely  spot 
where  the  Empress  tried  so  hard  to  fool  Father  Time  by 
expecting  to  live  forever.  One  of  her  ideas  for  insuring 
longevity  was  to  drink  only  human  mother's  milk,  in 
consequence  many  a  baby  being  deprived  of  its  nourish- 
ment while  this  cross,  selfish,  cruel  woman  carried  out 
her  silly  notion.  From  the  looks  of  the  garden  with  its 


132  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

many  tea  houses  and  elaborate  kitchen  arrangements, 
she  must  have  had  an  enormous,  insatiable  appetite. 

Among  a  lot  of  other  extravagances  she  had  con- 
structed for  her  a  huge  marble  ship,  permanently 
moored  in  the  middle  of  a  lake.  The  story  goes  that  she 
was  a  wretched  sailor,  and  to  do  away  with  any  possi- 
bilities of  mal  de  mer,  she  conceived  the  idea  of  having 
this  craft  well  planted  on  good  foundations  in  the  mud 
at  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  thus  enabling  her  to  enjoy  the 
sensation  of  being  on  a  ship  without  the  attendant  dis- 
comforts. Here,  too,  were  gorgeous  facilities  for  supply- 
ing food  to  satisfy  the  imperial  appetite. 

It  was  the  irony  of  fate  that  this  tyrannical  old  wo- 
man, the  Empress  Dowager,  died  in  this  very  Palace,  a 
thing  that  is  not  done  in  high  Imperial  Chinese  circles. 
An  Emperor  or  Empress,  running  true  to  form,  must 
pass  away  in  the  Winter  Palace,  so  the  Dowager,  having 
"checked  out"  in  the  Summer  Palace  garden  was,  ac- 
cording to  law  and  tradition,  not  permitted  to  officially 
die  until  after  her  remains  had  been  robed  in  garments 
of  state,  her  body  propped  up  in  an  imposing  looking 
chair,  and  with  proper  pomp  and  ceremony  was  trans- 
ported to  the  Winter  Palace,  where  all  that  was  mortal 
was  deposited  in  the  late  Empress  Dowager's  bedcham- 
ber. How  many  along  that  highway  suspected  that  the 
bobbing  old  head  they  saw  in  the  chair  was  that  of  a 
corpse,  tied  and  thus  held  in  place  to  more  properly 
command  their  homage?  One  can  picture  them  now, 
their  foreheads  in  the  dust  of  the  road,  while  the  stately 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  133 

bearers  carried  their  lifeless  charge,  the  gaping  onlookers 
never  suspecting  the  real  character  of  the  procession. 

It  is  also  told  of  this  strong-willed  woman  that  the 
Emperor  having  died  without  leaving  a  son  by  his  lawful 
wife,  the  woman  who  afterwards  became  the  Empress 
Dowager,  but  in  the  Emperor's  lifetime  was  one  of  his 
concubines,  by  skilful  intrigue  and  clever  management 
placed  her  son  upon  the  throne,  to  which  she  ascended, 
first  as  Regent.  In  due  time  she  placed  her  son  in  a  mad 
house  and  assumed  the  reins  of  state  herself. 

Ruling  with  a  high  hand,  she  spent  the  nation's  money 
with  a  lavishness  that  has  never  been  excelled.  Large 
sums  appropriated  for  public  uses  were  applied  to  pro- 
jects for  her  own  luxury,  comfort  and  gratification.  For 
instance,  millions  authorized  for  equipping  China  with 
a  modern  navy  were  used  to  build  this  very  Summer 
Palace  and  its  extraordinary  grounds,  not  a  penny  being 
devoted  to  the  creation  of  anything  remotely  suggesting 
the  navy — unless  it  is  that  marble  ship! 

Her  little  grandson,  the  heir  presumptive  to  the 
throne,  is  a  sickly  lad  of  sixteen  years,  surrounded  by 
tutors,  and  sorely  missing  the  life  a  normal  boy  of  those 
years  most  needs.  He  abides  in  a  barn  of  a  palace  in  the 
Forbidden  City,  lonely  and  pitiful  indeed.  It  is  said  he 
is  persuaded  to  look  to  the  U.  S.  A.  to  extricate  him 
from  his  difficult  situation,  one  of  these  fine  days.  In 
fact  all  China  looks  kindly  upon  America  and  regards 
us  as  her  best  friend.  This  spirit  you  can  intuitively  feel 
as  you  walk  or  ride  in  the  streets  of  Peking.  The  friendli- 


134  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

ness  of  this  race  is  in  centra-distinction  to  one's  exper- 
ience, at  times,  in  contact  with  natives  in  some  of  the 
cities  of  Japan. 

Tomorrow  we  are  off  for  the  Ming  Tombs  and  the 
Great  Wall,  so  a  turn  in  early  is  the  order  of  the  evening. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  135 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

TODAY'S  train  ride  to  a  small  station  called  Kalgan 
brought  us  to  our  stopping  place  for  the  night,  and 
we  alighted  at  a  rather  desolate  looking  road  house 
where  we  were  to  be  quartered.  It  is  getting  monotonous 
to  touch  upon  the  chilly  atmosphere  so  very  frequently 
but  facts  are  facts,  and  I  had  to  go  to  bed  to  get  warm 
and  keep  so.  A  wind  was  howling  and  rain  was  pelting 
the  little  panes  of  glass  with  a  vicious  force  that  was 
most  unpleasant. 

A  sombre  old  Chinese  and  his  wife  were  our  hosts, 
and  my  mind  involuntarily  reverted  to  the  terrifying 
stories  I  had  read  and  the  thrilling  "movies"  I  had  seen, 
depicting  the  commission  of  murderous  crimes  by  slim 
fingered  orientals  in  pigtails,  who  first  offered  the  star 
of  the  plot — be  she  a  heroine  or  he  a  hero — a  poisonous 
cup  of  tea.  I  was  feeling  less  like  a  heroine  than  ever  in 
my  life  before,  and  I  questioned  our  good  judgment  in 
coming  so  far  and  to  this  out  of  the  way  place,  simply 
to  see  a  collection  of  mausoleums  and  an  interminable 
old  wall!  How  lonely  one  can  be  in  a  strange  land, 
a  black  night,  a  cheerless  house  with  strange  and 
foreign  inmates,  a  storm  raging  without  and  a  vivid 
imagination  dwelling  upon  all  the  unpleasant  sub- 
jects that  one's  brain  faithfully  stores  up  for  occas- 


fj6  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

ions  of  this  kind.  I  was  certain  we  should  never  see 
the  next  sun  rise. 

Our  supper  of  tea,  rice  and  boiled  meat  was  served  in 
our  bedroom  and  the  repast  was  not  half  bad  as  meals 
like  these  go — in  fact  I  have  had  a  lot  worse  in  our  gyra- 
tions around  the  globe,  particularly  in  far  away  corners. 
I  call  to  mind  Burma,  where  food  as  we  know  it  was  not 
fit  to  eat,  and  as  we  could  not  live  entirely  on  flying  fish 
— the  kind  Kipling  describes  in  his  "Road  to  Mandelay" 
—we  should  have  starved  had  it  not  been  for  my  cooking 
outfit  and  box  of  stores.  But  let  us  get  back  to  China. 

Strangely  enough,  no  tragedy  befell  us  as  we  were  up 
and  about  early,  being  greeted  by  a  cheery  lot  of  coolies 
whose  job  it  was  to  be  to  carry  us  about  in  our  respec- 
tive chairs  for  the  next  six  or  eight  hours.  One  soon  be- 
comes accustomed  to  the  rhythmic  swing  of  these  pow- 
erful men,  and  the  initial  dread  of  having  them  stumble 
or  fall  to  maintain  an  even  stride  soon  vanishes,  and  the 
novel  means  of  locomotion  becomes  a  pleasant  habit. 

As  far  as  they  eye  could  reach  there  stretched  that 
snakelike  structure  over  the  hills,  into  the  valleys,  up 
to  the  mountains  and  over  them,  twisting  and  turning, 
frequently  punctured  with  parapets.  Measuring  22  feet 
in  its  average  height  and  20  feet  in  width,  this  mass  of 
rock,  builded  by  man,  has  been  standing  since  the  jrd 
century  B.  C.,  and  the  winds  and  rain  have  only  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a  solid,  indestructible  mass  of  the 
whole. 

A  gap  in  the  wall  carries  this  story.  When  one  of  the 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  ijj 

Emperors,  was  supervising  the  building  of  this  particu- 
lar section  of  the  wall,  all  available  subjects  irrespective 
of  vocation  or  calling  having  been  pressed  into  service, 
he  observed  a  workman  who  was  doing  a  manifestly 
poor  job  and  who  was  severely  taken  to  task  accordingly. 
The  offender  was  a  scholar  and  a  person  of  refinement 
and  culture,  totally  unfitted  for  this  menial  labor,  hence 
his  shortcomings  as  a  builder  of  masonry  persisted  and 
finally  brought  down  the  Imperial  wrath  upon  him  that 
culminated  in  the  sentence  condeming  him  to  burial 
alive  in  the  wall  referred  to.  He  met  his  doom  in  short 
order.  His  grief-stricken  wife,  inconsolable,  wept  copious 
tears  at  the  site  of  his  interment — the  very  spot — her 
tears  drenching  a  section  of  the  wall  that  in  all  subse- 
quent time  could  never  be  permanently  restored.  Through 
the  ages  China's  best  engineers  have  been  unable  to 
overcome  this  traditional  weak  panel  in  the  Great  Wall, 
and  there  it  is  today,  to  substantiate  the  tale  told  to  me 
and  now  passed  on  to  you. 

In  this  day  and  generation  it  is  difficult  to  understand 
how  the  Great  Wall  offered  an  effective  barrier  and 
protection  against  the  invasion  of  war  bent  hordes, 
since  the  recent  big  war  has  familiarized  us  with  guns 
having  a  range  of  miles,  where  once  the  distance  covered 
by  destructive  missiles  was  measured  in  feet;  when  air 
craft  has  made  it  possible  to  perch  so  high  in  the  heavens 
for  the  deliberate  dropping  of  bombs  capable  of  destroy- 
ing a  large  community,  without  risk  to  the  Zeppelins  or 
airplanes;  when  science  and  the  skill  of  man  have  de- 


138  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

vised  other  fiendish  agencies  to  cause  havoc  beyond 
measure  and  description.  But  for  all  that,  the  Great 
Wall  still  stands  in  this  year  A.D.  1920.  What  has  our 
more  modern  civilization  to  point  to  in  the  form  of  a 
great  structure  that  will  be  defying  the  ages  23  centuries 
from  now? 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

OUR  homeward  journey  included  the  Ming  Tombs. 
The  dynasty  of  the  Ming  emperors  dates  back 
over  three  centuries,  and  these  mausoleums  with  the 
marvelous  yellow  tiles,  their  glaze  still  perfect,  are  like- 
wise mute  evidences  of  the  permanency  of  the  building 
art  as  it  existed  in  those  bygone  days.  But  an  era  of 
decay  is,  I  fear,  now  setting  in,  for  a  crumbling  of  the 
edifices  has  been  noted  more  and  more  in  recent  years 
and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  one  assumes  considerable  risk 
of  bodily  injury  when  walking  under  the  arched  gate- 
ways— the  slightest  jar  sometimes  bringing  down  chunks 
of  tile  or  stone.  Should  you  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  have 
a  real  specimen  hit  you,  well  you  can  either  begin  to 
plan  your  own  tomb  without  much  delay,  or  your  be- 
reaved relatives  will  do  it  for  you. 

I  just  escaped  a  fine  piece  of  ceramic,  my  alert  China 
boy  succeeding  in  pulling  me  out  of  harm's  way,  thus 
doubtless  saving  me  from  a  painful  injury  and  what  was 
better,  causing  said  tile  to  imbed  itself  in  the  soft  mud, 
whence  we  extracted  it  and  later  mounted  it  as  a  suitable 
desk  paper  weight.  It  is  now  reposing  on  my  writing 
table,  my  proud  possession,  moreover  a  reminder  of 
what  might  have  been  had  I  acted  as  the  human  land- 
ing place  in  its  restless  flight  from  its  centuries  old  abid- 


140  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

ing  place.  But  there  it  is,  my  precious  Ming  paper 
weight,  reflecting  the  sunlight  from  my  open  window, 
blinking  lazily  and  no  doubt  dreaming  of  the  long  past 
days  of  splendor,  comparing  my  simple  surroundings  to 
those  of  the  Ming  dynasty,  with  their  ostentation  and 
intrigue. 

Of  course  everyone  has  heard  of  the  approach  to  the 
Tombs,  consisting  of  gigantic  stone  figures  of  famous 
warriors,  and  also  of  various  animals,  camels,  elephants, 
dogs,  griffons,  etc.,  comprising  the  impressive  guard  for 
the  massive  and  majestic  entrance. 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  141 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

OUR  arrival  at  the  Nanking  station  in  Shanghai  was 
seemingly  dreadfully  late,  only  a  few  sleepy  por- 
ters, rickshaw  boys  and  cabbies  being  in  evidence,  all 
bundled  up  to  their  eyes,  looking  very  much  like  mum- 
mies and  certainly  acting  like  them.  Obviously  their 
little  brains  were  frozen  and  I  am  not  so  sure  that  the 
midnight  chilliness  was  the  sole  cause.  A  Thos.  Cook  & 
Son  man  met  us,  a  native  labeled  an  interpreter  of 
English,  the  extent  of  his  vocabulary  being  to  utter 
"yes"  to  any  question  or  other  remark  that  might  be 
addressed  to  him.  We  had  arranged  with  Cook  &  Son 
to  book  us  at  any  available  first  class  hotel,  had  paid  a 
liberal  deposit  in  advance  and  we  started  for  Shanghai 
with  the  comfortable  assurance  (as  expressed  in  a 
telegram  from  Cook  &  Son)  that  suitable  quarters 
awaited  us.  So  we  asked  the  "Interpreter"  specially  sent 
to  meet  and  greet  us:  "Have  you  engaged  rooms  for  us 
at  the  Astor  House  Hotel?"  "Yes,  Missie."  R.  mean- 
while asked:  "Have  you  engaged  for  us  at  the  Palace 
Hotel?"  "Yes,  master."  And  thus  we  were  enlightened. 
That  was  a  bitterly  cold  ride  to  the  Astor  House 
Hotel,  a  heavy,  penetrating  wind  blowing  through  us,  so 
that  we  felt  like  human  porous  plasters,  innumerable 
little  drafts  eating  into  our  very  marrow  bones.  There 


142  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

we  sat  in  a  small  open,  victoria-like  hack,  drawn  by  a 
thin  but  hardy  pony,  huddled  on  the  scant  seat  with  our 
bags  about  us  like  a  first-line  trench,  and  there  we 
crouched  as  the  long  dash  was  made  for  our  destination 
— that  is,  as  much  of  a  dash  as  one  can  ever  make  in 
the  East. 

So  after  much  beating  of  air  and  jerking  of  reins, 
accompanied  by  intimidating  screaming  of  our  driver  at 
the  tired  pony  and  howling  at  belated  pedestrians  that 
crossed  our  path,  we  landed  in  safety  at  the  door  of  the 
Astor  House  Hotel,  the  gaily  lighted,  spacious  office 
presenting  a  picture  of  welcoming  shelter  from  the  icy 
blasts  of  the  north.  But  here  the  supply  of  hospitality  ran 
out,  for  the  bland  night  clerk  regretted  to  report  that, 
owing  to  unforeseen  circumstances,  the  rooms  engaged 
for  our  party  could  not  be  occupied,  but  we  would  be 
taken  care  of  in  some  fashion.  Some  fellow  victims  that 
registered  just  ahead  of  us  were  assigned  to  the  ball- 
room, and  as  all  the  screens  of  the  hotel  were  required 
for  this  batch  of  guests,  our  chances  for  the  night  looked 
dubious.  It  seems  that  the  huge  liner  "Empress  of 
Russia"  was  to  have  sailed  the  morning  of  this  day, 
taking  several  hundred  people  who  were  occupying  the 
choice  apartments  of  the  hotel,  but  the  unprecedented 
high  wind  and  exceptionally  strong  running  tide  made 
it  impossible  to  get  alongside  the  big  ship  at  her  moor- 
ings in  the  channel  of  the  Yangste  River,  and  after 
hours  of  fruitless  attempt  to  transfer  these  passengers 
from  tender  to  the  "Empress,"  the  undertaking  had  to 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  143 

be  abandoned,  and  the  several  hundred  people,  numb 
with  cold,  half  sick  with  nausea  from  the  tossing  tender, 
re-registered  at  their  hotels  and  again  took  up  the 
quarters  previously  occupied,  many  of  which  had  been 
promised  to  travelers  like  ourselves,  who  were  now 
literally  constrained  to  cool  our  heels. 

After  some  unsatisfactory  exchange  of  words  with 
said  bland  night  clerk,  we  were  walked  up  five  flights  of 
rear  stairway — the  lift  being  out  of  order — and  shown 
into  a  room  in  the  attic,  containing  two  small  windows 
but  only  half  of  the  required  window-panes.  The  bed 
showed  signs  of  recent  use;  wearing  apparel  was  strewn 
on  the  floor;  a  pair  of  boots  stood  on  the  mantel;  dirt 
was  everywhere  and  a  gale  of  wind  enlivened  the  whole 
dreary  scene.  We  decided  unanimously  and  without 
delay  to  refuse  such  hospitality,  and  betook  ourselves 
down  the  five  flights,  resolved  to  avail  ourselves  of  a  big 
lobby  chair  with  one  or  two  of  our  steamer  rugs  to  cover 
us,  if  something  that  resembled  a  room  did  not  offer. 
Presently,  however,  we  were  again  ushered  into  another 
cubby-hole,  a  sort  of  second  cousin  to  the  one  we  had 
spurned.  It  was  clean,  however,  but  oh,  so  cold!  So  the 
sleepy  boy  was  ordered  to  put  a  fire  in  the  tiny  grate, 
sad  and  dilapidated  though  it  appeared,  only  to  soon 
realize  that  whatever  heat  was  produced  fiercely  blew 
up  the  chimney  to  join  the  howling  gale  without.  Still 
wrapped  in  our  fur  coats  and  removing  only  hats  and 
gloves,  we  sank  into  the  bed,  only  to  have  it  collapse  to 
the  floor  with  a  clatter  and  a  bang  causing  the  iron  grate 


144  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

to  fall  out,  spilling  the  precious  hot  coals  over  the 
hearth  rug,  giving  us  much  excitement  until  we  had 
corraled  them.  Never  shall  we  know  what  made  that  bed 
collapse.  Was  it  the  extra  coats  and  gloves,  or  the  shock 
of  actually  having  a  fire  in  the  grate  that  looked  like 
last  year's  bird  nest?  Anyway,  we  laughed  and  laughed, 
sprawling  on  the  floor  with  head  board  and  foot  board 
hopelessly  parted,  the  scene  looking  for  all  the  world 
like  a  train  wreck — most  certainly  we  felt  like  one. 

The  following  morning  R.  and  I  were  haunting  the 
outside  of  the  breakfast  room,  waiting  for  the  doors  to 
open.  We  had  had  little  or  no  sleep,  and  even  the  bare 
corridors  were  more  inviting  than  our  dilapidated, 
tumble-down  lumber  room,  hence  we  were  the  first  to 
enter  the  dining-room. 

But  all  is  well  that  ends  that  way  for,  after  the  third 
day's  attempt,  the  "Empress"  succeeded  in  getting 
away,  taking  her  hundreds  of  passengers  and  leaving 
many  rooms  available  for  those  standing  in  line  to 
occupy  them.  The  storm,  the  cause  of  our  misery  of 
these  past  few  days,  is  the  third  severe  one  within  the 
hundred  year  memory  of  Shanghai,  and  if  the  local 
newspapers  are  to  be  believed,  it  was  by  no  means  con- 
fined in  its  devastating  effects  upon  the  local,  very 
important  river,  the  Yangste,  but  swept  the  sea  coast  in 
all  directions,  and  with  terrible  havoc  in  its  train. 

Meanwhile  the  ardor  of  the  Biffys  to  encircle  the  globe 
on  their  homeward  way  has  not  been  dampened;  in  fact 
they  accomplished  what  all  tourist  agencies  declared 


NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING  145 

impossible,  and  booked,  with  true  American  energy  of 
purpose,  on  a  fine  ship,  the  very  best  quarters,  and  soon 
they  will  be  sailing  towards  the  equator  on  their  way  to 
Ceylon  and  India.  We  have  equipped  them  with  a  list 
of  "don'ts,"  as  long  as  your  arm,  to  observe  while  living 
in  fascinating  India,  adding  our  blessings  and  best 
wishes  for  a  happy  time  there.  It  is  indeed  with  sad 
hearts  that  we  part  after  these  wonderful  weeks  of  de- 
lightful companionship,  in  which  our  already  close 
friendship  has  been  welded  into  an  even  stronger  struc- 
ture, if  that  were  possible.  We  know  the  priceless  worth 
of  these  two  charming,  delightful  pals,  and  only  the 
promise  of  another  trip  in  the  not  distant  future  recon- 
ciles us  in  part  to  separate  company  here.  Already  we 
have  planned  wanderings  to  other  regions  that  hold  our 
curiosity,  and  must  be  seen  to  gratify  our  taste  for  see- 
ing new  sights,  studying  interesting  people  and  observ- 
ing out-of-the-ordinary  customs. 

Meanwhile  we  turn  our  faces  to  the  United  States  to 
make  certain  that  the  home  fires  are  still  burning.  We 
have  ties  and  responsibilities  that  call  for  a  guiding  hand 
during  these  troublesome,  chaotic  times.  Surely  the 
world  is  anything  but  at  peace.  Whither  has  that  little 
white  dove  flown,  and  will  it  ever  want  to  come  back  to 
this  sorry  and  sorrowful  world?  Alas,  it  is  fast  accumu- 
lating so  much  hatred  toward  its  fellow  man,  that  I 
sometimes  wonder  if  we  have  strayed  so  far  off  the  Path 
that  a  lesson  is  being  sent  us  in  its  present  form,  just  to 
turn  us  of  our  own  free  will  back  to  the  road  of  justice 


146  NEW  YORK  TO  PEKING 

and  righteousness.  It  is  a  heroic  remedy  indeed,  and 
only  one  that  a  God  could  apply,  knowing  that  it  will 
not  kill,  but  certainly  cure. 

Once  more  I  see  my  bit  of  yellow  Ming  tile  reflecting 
a  blink  on  its  gorgeously  glazed  yellow  surface,  this  time 
a  disgusted  one,  as  my  Aberdeen  terrier  Jock  frisks  into 
my  writing  room,  and  demands  attention  by  putting  his 
soft,  big,  flat  paws  on  my  papers  and  disarranging  them 
hopelessly  in  his  frantic  desire  to  tell  me  to  come  out  in 
the  lovely  Virginia  mountain  sunshine  for  a  long  rambl- 
ing walk,  and  to  leave  the  scribbling  of  my  Oriental 
observations  to  some  other  time.  A  few  hours  more  or 
less  in  telling  about  the  ancient  Far  East  cannot  possibly 
make  any  difference,  while  we  two  friends  explore  the 
woods  and  hedges  of  Albemarle  for  rabbits,  forgetting 
all  but  the  present  and  the  joys  of  being  alive. 

For  you  must  know  we  are  back  in  our  home  again, 
and  the  journey  from  New  York  to  Peking  is  but  a 
memory,  spent  with  the  Biffys,  charming,  ideal  travel- 
ing companions.  The  many  little  inconveniences,  a  few 
real  hardships,  experienced  in  the  course  of  our  wander- 
ings, only  served  to  make  us  realize  their  worth  the 
more.  Their  tried  and  true  friendship,  their  ever  cheery 
philosophy,  their  delightful  companionship,  go  far  in 
making  this  world  of  ours  a  paradise  worth  living  in. 
And  as  an  old  Italian  proverb  says  :"Good  company  in  a 
journey  makes  the  way  to  seem  the  shorter." 

THE    END 


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DS    Ortman  - 
508   New  York  to 
077n  Peking™ 


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A     000523719     3 


DS 

508 

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